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netherfeildren · 7 months

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Pink : Part II: I See Your Father as My Father

Series Masterlist : Part I

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Content Warnings: No outbreak AU; Welcome to the father-in-law suck and fuck extravaganza; Fix-it-fic but the thing that needs fixing is a person; Daddy issues; Daddy kink; Divorce; DD/lg dynamics; Older man/Younger woman; Inappropriate relationships; Self esteem issues; Discussions of emotional and mental abuse; Unhealthy coping mechanisms; Ass play lite; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Praise kink; Aftercare; Size kink; Spitting; Come eating; Thigh fucking; Oral sex

A/N: Check the tags on the masterlist, as well!

Word Count: 12.3K

Rating: Explicit 18+

Read on AO3

Ko-fi

2. I See Your Father as My Father

When he swings the door open, he’s still half pulling a t-shirt over his curl messed head, faded gray, rust orange longhorn across the front, a flash of hair sprinkled belly. All man, man, man. It stretches over his broad shoulders so the holes strewn there stretch and gape wide making your face heat unbearably. And he’s struck silent for a second, realizing it’s you taking up space on his front porch, trying to hide against the shadow of the wooden beam at your back, ringing his bell in the middle of the night like the Devil’s on your heels. Brow pulled low, he steps out onto the porch, into the shadows with you, his gaze flashing back and forth between your eyes. He says your name, and you hate it. “Did somethin’ happen? Are you alright?” And you want to say no, that nothing is alright. That you know you shouldn’t be here, but you’re here anyways now, and so he needs to tell you what’s going to happen next because this is as far as you’d planned. The sound of his voice, the sight of him, that’s as far as you’d planned. The rest is up to him now, even if he doesn’t know it. Your eyes fall down the long, broad length of him. Rumpled jeans, hastily pulled on, and his bare feet, oddly erotic. They’re paler than the rest of him, sun deprived, and briefly, ridiculously, you wonder if he has that funny sock tan men get around their ankles. The skin stretched over strong tendon and bone, beautifully arched. You give a tiny shake of your head, something like a whimper slipping up your throat. And you think he must realize or understand because he sighs, long and drawn out, dragging his palm over his mouth as he watches you struggle. You think that’s his tell, that dragging hand; he does it when he’s thinking, confused, worried, upset which leads you to worry that maybe he’s upset you’re here now, but it’s done, you’ve come. There’s nothing either of you can do to undo it now. Your eyes move back up to his face, and he’s taking stock of you now also. The soft, loose jersey shorts, too big pullover almost covering them entirely, the sleeves twisted around your clenched fingers. “You gotta tell me what you’re doin’ here, sweetheart. You gotta say it out loud.” You let out a rough, frustrated sound through your clenched teeth, looking away from him for a second.

“We never talked about it,” you say instead because you want to hear him acknowledge it, you want that to be said out loud.

He understands immediately, “You never gave me a chance to.”

You look back at him, he’s taken a step closer, and you wrap your arms back behind the beam, trying to meld yourself to the wood, keep yourself away from him.

“What else was I supposed to do? If we talked about it, it would’ve happened again.”

“Well, then that’s why – that’s why we never talked about it.”

“But did you want to?” And your voice breaks a little at the end, “Did you want to talk about it?”

He sighs again, a muttered curse under his breath. He isn’t going to give you the easy way out. “Tell me why he left you,” and you flinch. He, his son. It’s the truth, no reason to cower. You were left. You have to look away again, unable to confess this when looking into the kinder version of eyes that never loved you.

“I think you know. I think you could tell from the very first moment you saw us together.” He hums his agreement, and the sound fucking hurts. “He never loved me. He never even really liked me, I don’t think. But that became okay after a while.” A tear falls, and you listen to the sound of him suck in a sharp breath; it makes you smile just a little, that small sound. You look back at his face, “I don’t want you to think I’m not okay with that now because I really am. It made me realize that he’d never been what I wanted or needed either. That he couldn’t ever give me what I wanted either.”

“And what’s that?” His voice sounds gentle, but you know that it’s put on. You know there isn’t going to be anything gentle about this.

You choose to ignore that, “You know he said once, that I’d lied to him about who I was. But I didn’t– I really didn’t, Joel,” and you say it with such panic, or fervor, or something that’s desperate to ensure that he doesn’t think the same of you. That he doesn’t take you for a liar also. “He just couldn’t understand that this is the only way I know how to be. Being scared all the time makes you a liar. It makes you what the moment needs you to be no matter what that is. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I know what you mean,” but he looks nervous, the truth of him too close to the surface, and it soothes you. The two of you are the same, you knew it.

You peek down at your twisted fingers, nails gnawed raw and bloody and disgusting. “I don’t think he ever loved me and that made me sad. But now, I don't think I ever loved him either, and that makes me sadder. It was all for nothing, I let him turn me into that thing for nothing, and I was always waiting for him to treat me better, different. But a person who can treat you badly once usually finds it quite easy to do it again.” You look back up at him, shocked for a moment at your sharp honesty. “I’m sorry. He’s your son. I shouldn’t say these things to you,” even thought it sounds like hypocrisy, for look at where you’re standing in the middle of the night.

“And you’re you.”

And the sober way he says it sobers you, recenters you. “Yes. I’ve always been only myself.” And it’s the truth, the most difficult one. That despite Sam’s claims that you’d made him believe you to be someone you weren’t, despite the sick desire for complacency, to please all those around you, you have always been only you. Even when they’d tried to force you to be something you weren’t, you were still always only yourself. You say it again, just to hear the sound of the words.

“You gotta tell me what you’re doing here then. You want to talk about that? About what happened that night? Is that it?”

“Yes.”

He sighs, that telling gesture over his stern mouth again. “If we do this, there’s no goin’ back, and I–”

“There already is no going back for me. I can’t forget. I can’t stop remembering.”

“It would be different– if we– if I take you, it’ll be different. You get me? I won’t be able to stop. I know myself well enough to know that. I won’t be able to stay away from you after.”

“I don’t care.”

“So that’s what you want?” But you can’t say the words out loud, you can’t, you can’t. You’re ashamed, embarrassed, humiliated by your own desire, small and slanted. Despite all your progress, and as much as you want it, you still know you shouldn’t. “I gotta fuckin’ hear it, sweetheart. Is that what you want?” You shake your head a little, another tear, wrapping your arms around yourself. You can see the fight in his eyes, trying to hold you off from the inside out. I don’t know, another tear. He makes a frustrated noise, turning to pace to the opposite end of the porch, hand fisted in his hair. When he turns back he seems to deflate, eyes going cool and steady and then, suddenly, like a ricochet, bright and light, a flash fire. Once more: “What do you want?” To be wanted. To be good. “You want me to kiss you? You want me to fuck you?”

And your eyes flutter closed in relief, there it is, finally, the hard part’s over. It’s been said out loud. “Yes, that’s what I want.” He’s on you in three ground eating strides, big hand wrapping around the contours of your jaw, the other fisting in the hair at the back of your head, pulling you up so that you’re balanced on the tips of your toes. Your eyes fall shut, mouth parting embarrassingly ready for him to kiss you, but he gives your head a little shake between his palms. “You’re supposed to belong to my son, goddamnit. I’m not supposed to want you like this. This is wrong.”

“I never belonged to him,” and then bitter truth, honesty laminated in humiliation, “And I don’t care if it’s wrong.” Followed by a thought, a wash of shyness, held in his hands as you are, large strong hands: there is a part of me that feels very innocent still, naive, experienced hands that will finally teach you how to be good. You watch the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the sun roughened skin of his throat, and when you look back up at his eyes, there is nothing like innocence, nothing like naivety in them, only the reflection of something complex, something more. He goes very still, almost vibrational with restraint, his fingers clench around you once, and then, with unbearable control, his hands flex open, releasing you.

“Get in the house,” he says very, very quietly. You cup your own palm around the space of your chin where he’d gripped you and turn on your toes, scampering inside, into the home of the man who would have remained your father-in-law for the rest of your life had his son ever decided to love you. The door slams shut behind him.

He steps into the dark restroom with a staying hand out and ready, as if approaching a wounded, rabid animal.

His son, his son is a cruel and small man. Joel is coming to realize this with something like horror running in currents beneath his skin. Quick to anger, quick to aggression. And you, his daughter-in-law, no one knows this better than you do. He’d naively thought, when his fully grown son had appeared at his door steps all those months ago, that the question Joel had carried on the tip of his tongue for half of his adult life had finally been answered. Alone but never necessarily lonely, something like a film of boredom and monotony over his life. He was content with the place he’d made for himself; he had his business and his brother and friends, and Joel was fine. But a child of his own, he’d never expected it, never even considered it a possibility. And what he’d come to discover: his son, who shouldn’t still be a child, but in many ways, was.

He licks at the groove of his molar as he watches the tremble of your back, trying to hide your weeping face in the shadows of the bathroom wall. A small, anxious thing that had been, out of everything, perhaps the biggest shock of all. To learn that he had a son, an entire life lost to time, and that there was someone in the world that his son should have loved enough to tie himself to – it was shocking. To discover that his son was married when Joel was not, disorienting.

He says your name softly and watches the jerk of your frame, that vein of anxiety he’d sensed in you from the get go that he was fairly certain Sam had a large part in sowing. You’d shown up with your hair picked up today, only the second time you’ve ever worn it so. Piled messy at the top of your head, a few strands laying against the nape of your neck, the vulnerable slope of your shoulder. He feels strangely afraid of you, afraid for you. Unsure of what to say, heart beating out of his chest, rebounding against his ribcage so hard he’s sure you can hear it. “I’m sorry. He didn’t mean it. He–”

“Please, don’t apologize for him.” A tiny sniffle. “Don’t apologize for him,” you say again, and there’s a hum of exhaustion in your voice, brokenness, it makes Joel go from afraid to entirely terrified, but then angry too… angry too. He takes a step forward, another, he’s an arms length away from you now. He could touch you if he was brave enough. If the intent behind it wasn’t as wrong as it is. Angry because he’s looking at that vulnerable nape, imagining the fit of his palm molded over the delicate column, and you’re something to be taken care of. Something like a gift. Even though he doesn’t know you well enough to say such a thing yet, even though he shouldn’t be thinking such a thing about his daughter-in-law. Even though you hold yourself with a hard rigidness most of the time, quiet dignity and cold vulnerability that seem almost impossible to get through. And yet he suspects that with enough care and patience you could become immediately soft, easily penetrated. He should see his son as a gift, and he does, he does, he does, he swears he does. If Joel repeats it enough times in his mind surely he’ll come to believe it with his whole heart, but what he sees more than the gift of a child that was kept from him, is nothing but a boy beating down a creature that was not taught to defend itself. And that makes him angry beyond belief.

Joel can be a hard man. He is a hard man. Perhaps, a large part of the reason why he’s still alone, why nothing more than a quick fuck ever seems to work out for him. Women like him, they enjoy his company, they come to bed with him easily. But Joel is hard and cold, and he’s never much minded his aloneness, a difficult thing to sell to a woman, the reality that he doesn’t really care to need anyone else. And so perhaps, this is his son’s inherited vice, that coldness, but despite Joel’s preference for solitude, for the fact that he doesn’t care about making a person stick around, he tries to never be cruel, and he is sure to never hurt those that are more easily hurt than himself. He doesn’t think there’s any worse sort of sin, and so he knows that this cruelty he’s witnessing didn’t come from him. But then he thinks that if it didn’t come from him, then it surely came as a consequence of him, of his absence, and so he is just as responsible for it. So he can’t help himself when, instead of more platitudes in favor of his gift of a son, he says: “You should leave him.” You let out a bitter sound of a laugh, something that pokes at that wound of fear of his.

“Should I? I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to say.”

“Isn’t it? It’s the truth. It’s what you need to hear right now,” The sweetheart he adds at the end has a tiny shiver moving down the length of your spine that his own vertebrae can’t help but imitate. You hang your head, bearing more of that lovely nape, head seemingly bowed in supplication for something gentler than what his son can offer you, and he can’t help himself again. He wants to sink his teeth into that soft expanse of skin. You’re too pretty, pretty in all the ways a perfect thing can be, and Joel is a hard man, not a weak one, but he feels weak now. He feels brought to his knees, heavy stone of guilt weighing in his gut as he lays his palm on the back of your bared neck. Don’t touch, don’t touch, don’t touch, this doesn’t belong to you. He tightens his hand, grips the column, presses the calluses of his palm to the soft skin. “Look at me–” he gruffs, turns you by the pressure of his hand, a kitten gripped by the scruff and made to listen. “You deserve more than that shit.” That shit being his son, his blood. Joel is two feet tall and so ashamed he’s nauseous. But your eyes, they look up at him, tear filled and so lost, and he wants to show you how it should be. “You deserve more,” he says again. Later, he’ll tell himself he surely must have said the words out loud, asked for it with teeth and tongue. The blame can only be his, he provoked it, he soothed the wound, incited it, because you’re surging up and against him, fingers clawing at his shoulders and throat and pressing your mouth to his, clumsy and tear stained and open so that the first thing he tastes is your breath on his tongue, then your tongue on his tongue, and then absolution tinged with shame, gross desire like desperation. He groans like a dying man, clutching at you immediately, unthinking, pulling you into himself, soft, full tits against hard chest so that he feels like he’s burning and dying and coming back to life all with the taste of your spit and tears in his mouth. He holds you steady, hand still clamped to the back of your neck and thinks that if he’s going to commit a sin he might as well take his fill. He eats at you. Head held in place, knees bent and arm banded around your waist to bring you level with each other, he pulls your head back, mouth open and tries to swallow you whole. And Joel doesn’t think of his son, not for a single second, while he kisses his daughter-in-law.

His lips slide to your throat, hunting for your pulse, tasting the tiny flutter, going weak at the knees at the whimpered sound you make, cock harder than it’s been in years, a noise like begging, like more. He sucks hard at that thrum, but your noises shift to frightened, protesting, fingers digging into his shoulders to warn him. He can’t leave marks, he can’t leave marks on something that belongs to another. His erection is an iron band down the leg of his jeans, and he has to force himself not to thrust the aching cock into the soft apex of your thighs, feel your warmth there. He has to stop, he has to– to what? To let you go back to a boy that mistreats you? Even if that boy is his son, it’s wrong, it goes against everything Joel is as a man. He presses his face into the blistering heat of your throat, a muttered fuck under the ledge of your little chin. A rattling shiver has started up in you, teeth chattering with the force of it, and he bands his arms around you tightly, pressing the air out of your lungs, hand smoothing up to twist in the back of your hair and force you entirely still. “Don’t,” his voice is so deep he almost doesn’t recognize it coming out of his own mouth, “Don’t be afraid.” The sound of his popping knees as he unbends to his full height, your weight still in his arms. He lets you go in increments, slowly so as not to jar you further, hands holding tight until the last moment when he forces them to unclench, let you go. “Don’t be afraid,” he says again. “You did nothing wrong. This was all me.” Your eyes are huge, but you’re not crying anymore, and that feels like victory to Joel, despite the rest, the only thing that matters.

You run from him after that, because of course you do. What’s the other option? That he’d keep you there in that dark restroom, from his son and your marriage and the world, forever? He clutches at his chest and is swallowed whole by his shame and his guilt, the terrible fear that he isn’t the sort of parent that can blindly see past their child’s faults, love them despite everything else, not the type of man who can keep himself from wanting something he shouldn’t, he hadn’t felt so when he’d kissed you with that sick desperation on his tongue. And once he hears the sound of a slamming car door, and Sam’s truck peeling out of the drive and speeding away, he takes out his hard cock and fucks his fist until the heat of his semen is sliding over his skin, a handful of pathetic strokes and the sound of your name almost like a sob in the dark.

You listen to the sound of his bare feet padding across the wooden floor, and your head feels like it’s breaking water, seeing clearly for the first time in years. It’s a rich parquet, gleaming in the dim light of the street lamp glow. You wonder if he installed it himself, like the wallpaper, proof of the care and attention to detail in his home. You think you would like to be cared for as such also. There’s a soft green throw draped over the back of the chocolate leather couch, and you dig your fingers into it, twisting amidst the knitted weave as you turn to face him, and he has that look in his eyes again, the one from before. The one like too much, too much, the one like fear and want. Stopping just in front of you, the tips of his bare toes meet the front of your shoes, and he reaches to drag the pad of his thumb over the high slope of your cheekbone, the fine skin catching beneath his calluses. “You’re too beautiful,” he says, and you wish it sounded like an accusation, but it doesn't, and you want to tell him you don’t believe him, just to be difficult, just to be contrary, but you know he’s not the sort of man that lies. It only sounds like praise. His eyes are so dark in the shadow of the house, the green and brown and caramel striations gone away in the night, and he’s shifting his jaw, chewing on a thought before he spits it out. His other hand comes up to gently, so gently cup the other side of your face, and he holds you there, just so, angling you this way and that, appraising you, chewing, chewing slowly. “Too beautiful – I never even stood a chance,” he says more to himself than to you. This is a man that does things with intention. This is a man that sees you as a complexity, as something more. This is a man. “He told me something – last time we saw each other.” Your heart beats painfully in your chest, you can feel it in your eyes and ears and the backs of your knees.

“What’s that?”

“That the two of you were havin’ problems. In– in the bedroom. That–”

You try and jerk away, but he holds you trapped. “Stop. Please. Don’t–”

“Is that all this is? Older man – want me to teach you somethin’?”

Cradled as you are, you close your eyes, brow folding in a frown, unable to refute him with a shake for the way he’s captured you. You bring your own hand up to circle his thick wrist, fingers not meeting around it. He has hair here, your palm slides further down, hair here too. All man, man, man. No longer in the hands of a boy, and you’re touching him. Now you’re touching him too. “That very first time I met you– I wondered what you’d taste like. How heavy you’d be inside of me. If you’d be rough, leave marks, or gentle. You know I– I wanted– If he hadn’t been there, if–” Now he’s the one that begs you to stop.

His hands on you are tighter now, almost strangling, squeezing a moan out of you. “Are you going to tell him?” His grip goes loose again, caressing. “ If we do this– are you going to use this against him? It’s yours to do with as you will, I just want to know beforehand. It won't change the way I have you tonight.”

“Only tonight?” Your voice sounding strange, hungry.

His eyes move entirely around your face, taking you in, held as you are. His gaze is manic, fevered, but his words are slow, stacked one on top of the other for you. “No. No, I don’t think it’ll only be tonight.”

“I’m not going to use this against him.” For the first time in two years, what you’re doing, the decisions you’re making, have nothing to do with your ex-husband. This is only for you. Joel is only for you.

“Tell me what you want,” he asks for the last time.

“To be good,” you finally say, and the rough sound he makes, the flush you can faintly see crawling up the column of his throat, it has a painful knot of want tightening your cunt, the wet drip of slick pooling in your panties, all hot and bruised feeling on the inside.

He lets his hands slide slowly from your face to hang loosely by his sides, and you take it as your invitation to touch him as you like now. He’s so much taller than you, your neck craning back to look up at his face. You start there, the crest of his cheek, the strong, curved nose, plush mouth that looks specifically made for kissing a cunt until it cries. He makes your thoughts feel savage, he makes you feel like something you’ve never been before. “You’re just a little girl, aren’t you?” He says softly. Your hands move down to his thick neck, and you try and cage him there, hands too small to circle him entirely, the insinuation of a strangling. Too small, too small, too small. You shake your head, mesmerized by the contradiction of your small fragility trying to capture all that strength held inside of him. You look up at his eyes, holding him around the throat as you are, and shake your head. You’re not. “Then what are you?”

“I don’t know. I want you to show me.” And that does something to him. You see the change come over him in that very moment, something chimeral in the change your words provoke. He’s made of nothing but vibrational restraint, giving you your moment of peace to explore him as you need to before he takes you for himself. You’re almost certain you can hear the sound of him grinding his molars to dust inside his mouth. And you want him to show you, it’s the truth. As wrong or whatever it is that it may be, it’s your truth. You’d always felt like you’d done being a woman the wrong way, a grating way, an unappealing way, but you didn’t want to be unappealing or wrong. You only wanted to be yourself. And worst of all, you’d been made to feel like that, over and over again, by the man who should have done nothing but the opposite. And you know it might be bad now, to want to be shown or that there was no right way, but still, but still, you want it. You would still like for someone, for Joel, to teach you how to be better, how to be good. Was that really so bad?

Your hands slide down to the thick muscles of his chest, thumbs dipping into the dents of his collarbones, lower to the soft of his belly, the edge of his jeans. The both of you are trembling now, you in lust, desperation, him in restraint maybe. There are beads of sweat dampening the curls at his temples. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“Do you think so?”

He nods, but he’s cupping your elbows in his big hands anyway, pulling you towards him so that your breasts graze the top of his belly. “But we’re doin’ it anyway.” You go up on your tiptoes, hand cupping the sharp edge of his jaw to pull him down towards you, and he’s like a leashed wolf; heavy, hot breaths fanning across your face, and he slowly does as you bid, mint, mixed with something sharp like whiskey. He’s watching you so intently, watching to see what you’ll do with him, but your eyes are only on that soft wet mouth. You want his tongue inside of you, and that first press is so, so soft, barely there. A sound like dying, you can’t tell who it comes from, another soft brush, and you’re taking his top lip between both of yours, sucking on it lightly, hands snaking over his thick shoulders to bring yourself up closer so that he’s finally wrapping his arms around you, pressing you tightly to himself, belly to belly. He still hasn’t closed his eyes, he’s still watching you, and your heart is beating so fast and so hard and you want this so much that you’re sure he can feel it reverberating into his own chest cavity, spurring his own beating muscle on. You press another tiny kiss to his full, open mouth. “I’m scared,” you whisper onto his tongue, and he smoothes a staying hand down your spine, settling over the curve of your ass and squeezing there, holding you in his snare. He’s barely even touched you, and yet, you already know that no one else has ever been like this.

“That’s alright. Got nothin’ to be scared of – I’m gonna be so gentle with you, baby.”

“I’m not your baby,” hint of an obstinate, provoking whine in your voice.

“But that’s what you are.” He changes the angle of his descent, and now he’s the one moving in for another tiny kiss. “Just a little baby.”

“And I don’t want it gentle.”

“You’ll take it how I say. How ‘bout that?” Another kiss, and now the taste of his tongue. You’d never forgotten it, the slick, hot slide of it, from that other time. He licks into you, takes away your ability to talk. In a single blink of an eye, less than a second’s thought, he’s taken all control from you, made the game his own, and now you’ve finally gotten what you’d come here for. Now you can finally say it out loud. He wraps a massive fist around the length of your hair and eats at your mouth, makes it his more than it’s ever been yours. All tongue and teeth and wet spit, the sound of his pleasure for you vibrating in your ears, and there is it, the pressure of his hard cock as he slides his hand lower, between your legs to feel the heat and damp of the pussy that’s wet only for him, pulls you further into himself. The heft of the bulge has you whining and squirming in his hold, clawing at his shoulders and the skin of his neck to climb up the length of him, get closer, get more. You want that cock, you want it inside of you, filling you with its weight and its come. You’ve wanted it from the first time you’d met him as his daughter-in-law, standing beside his son in the place of his wife. You’d wanted his cock more than you’d ever wanted his sons, and you’re only ashamed that you’re not ashamed at all. And he tastes that desperation on you, nips at your lip with a gruff settle, a little yank of your hair to tug your head back and unlatch his mouth from yours, sliding in a wet trail to your neck, settle, settle. He bites at the line of your throat, hard. Sucks even harder, leaves a mark, leaves a claim he wasn’t able to last time. The deeply rumbled sound that comes from him attests to his intention and your answering, whimpered mewl is nothing but a cry for more; I know, baby, I know, he whispers into your ear. His mouth moves down your chest, pulling the already stretched neck of your pullover wider to nuzzle at the deep groove of your cleavage. You want to ask him if he’s worried, guilty, if he’s wanted you for as long as you wanted him, if he was hard when you kissed him that night in his little wallpapered restroom, but then the heat of his mouth is clamping around your nipple and sucking, wetting the fabric of your top with his tongue, biting down at your breast, the sharp of his teeth clamping down around your sensitive flesh, nothing but your soft sleep bra beneath to protect you. You yank hard at his messy curls, trying to pull his punishing teeth away and pull yourself closer, all at the same time. His eyes flash up to yours, mouth latched at your breast, cheeks hollowing as he takes a hard, wet pull and there’s laughter in his gaze, hot and bright and infectious. “I’ll be gentle, but I’m not gonna be nice, baby.” He nuzzles into the wet spot left behind, presses another kiss, soft and conciliatory now over your throbbing nipple. “You want me to be nice? Want me to be nice to this little pussy?” He rubs the flat of his fingers over that desperate place between your legs as he turns to walk the two of you back towards the front of the sofa. There’s no response to be given, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. He turns to sit, pulling you to remain standing between his spread thighs, hands wrapped around your hips. “Gotta use your words, pretty baby. I wanna hear what you want.”

“I want whatever you want. I want it however you want it,” you say through your flush and your shyness. You want to be honest, not a liar here in this moment with him.

He lets his head fall forward to rest against your lower belly, nuzzles there, and you hear his whispered, Jesus, fuck, before he pulls back to look up at you, drags his palms down the back of your legs all the way to your ankles, nudging your shoes and socks off, and then sliding all the way back up, scratchy calluses making you shiver until he reaches the edge of your shorts and tucks the tips of his fingers there. “Take your shirt off,” he says gently, and you only pause for a second of timidity before you’re pulling it over your head, left only in your soft pink sleep bra not intended for the eyes of ex-father-in-law’s you’ve come to seduce. Your shyness flushes higher, burning your face, sprouting beads of embarrassed sweat at the nape of your neck. He untucks his fingers from the waistband of your shorts, smoothing his palms up the slopes of your curves, thumbs dragging up the plane of your belly, dipping into the dent of your navel to reach up and squeeze your breasts tight in his big hands, then pulls the straps down over your shoulders, the bra down over the curves of your breasts to leave them bare and heavy. And his eyes never leave yours as he gets you naked for himself, fingers sliding down your sides now to pull your shorts and panties and the scrunched bra down, the flush in his face deepening, heightening even though he’s yet to look at you. Don’t be scared, he whispers again, shaking his head a little when you wrap your arms around your breasts, trying to hide yourself away from him. When he’s taken your shorts from you, gripping each ankle to help you step out of their circle, he finally looks at you, takes in the entire bare expanse of your naked body, gently prying your arms from your breasts. “Lemme see, lemme see, you’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby.” He runs his hands all over you, the slope of your belly, lifts the weights of your tits in his palms to let them fall and sway heavily, down the outsides of your thighs and back up and around to squeeze the lush of your ass. He pulls you further towards him with that clutch on you and presses his nose into the apex of your thighs, nuzzles at the soft thatch of curls there, brings his thumb up to pet at it and breathes deep. “I like this – so pretty,” he tells you again. If it was possible for a person to die of shyness you surely would in this moment, but this was what you’d come here for, this was what you hadn’t been able to say out loud. He presses his nose there again, takes another deep breath, and then starts to mouth wetly, pressing soft kisses and then the wet of his tongue, licking and parting at your slick seam. He groans so deep it sends you to shivering, hands coming up to cover your face, to hide away from that sound of lust, the feral look in his eyes when he looks up at you with the taste of your cunt in his mouth. He starts to lap at you in earnest, closing his eyes in sheer enjoyment as he pets at your clit with his tongue, shifting his angle this way and that to get at you more deeply. He pulls one of your feet up onto the edge of the sofa to open you, and you’re jostled forward, catching yourself on his broad shoulder as he spreads and eats you. His hand on your ass shifts lower, searching for your opening from behind and starts to pet at you there too so that he’s coming at you from the front and the back, and it’s too much, his sucking mouth and probing fingers. Your standing leg buckles, and he’s forced to pull his mouth from you, steady you. You let your knees give out slowly, coming to a folded kneel between his legs. He leans forward, mouth glossy with your slick and pulls your face to his, chin pinched between his fingers to kiss you, and the taste of you on his tongue sets something off within you.

Suddenly, your shy insecurity doesn't really matter as much with the flavor of your pussy on his tongue. You surge up on your knees, pressing closer to him, pulling him to you with your arms twisted around his neck, moaning into his mouth as you taste the sweet muskiness on his tongue. Like kindling catching fire in your veins you start to claw at him, pulling at his clothes, his hair, scratching at his skin. He half pulls you up and on top of him, your steaming hot form, entirely bare and naked on top of his clothed one. You can feel the heft of his cock against your belly, grinding there, trying to find whatever friction possible, and he makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, pushing you back down onto the floor and pulling back to open his jeans. He’s panting and sweating, chest heaving and cheeks flushed a bright red. He wants you just as much as you want him. And it’s bad, it’s bad and wrong to compare, God knows, but when he finally pulls his cock out, he’s not wearing anything beneath his jeans, you know that this is a man unlike your husband ever was; long and thick, fucking big, swollen, flushed tip peaking out from soft surrounding skin, leaking a clear slick of drool. He takes it out and sits back, pushing his hips forward to settle into his seat and stretches his long legs on either side of you. You listen to the sound of the scooting coffee table as he shoves it back with his foot. His cock arches obscenely from his open jeans, and you reach up slowly, a little intimidated, to circle it with your fingers delicately. “You’re so hard,” you whisper.

He drags a gentle hand over the crown of your head, pulling the hair tie from your ponytail as he goes. “This is how much I want you. This is all you.” He circles his big hand around your much smaller one, squeezes his big cock tighter with both of your hands, and you flush with a pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. You can make a man hard, the proof is right here in front of you.

He’s uncut, and that’s doubly intimidating. “I’ve never seen one like that,” he pulls your hand up slowly with his, squeezes and twists hard at the sticky wet tip.

“It’s okay, baby,” he croons, looking down at you with a maniacal sort of glint in his eyes. “Just open your mouth,” he wraps his other hand around your jaw, “You don’t need to see it if it’s inside you,” wedges his fingers between your molars over the skin of your cheeks, prying your mouth open. You bend your head forward, tongue hanging out, and he taps the heavy weight of his cock there, jostles the wet tip slightly from side to side, the wet sticky sound of it has your pussy clenching around terrible emptiness. He slides his hand up your cheek, twists his fingers through your hair and directs you how he wants you, slides his cock further back on your tongue, and you wrap your lips around him, give him your first real suck, tongue swirling gently around the fat head. Pulling back with a sharp hollowing of your cheeks, he squeezes his fist around yours almost painfully, and you press an open mouthed kiss at the spongey tip, gently tonguing the slit, lapping at it with the flat of your tongue like a little kitten. The sight of you licking his dick has him groaning, bearing the white line of his teeth at you.

“You taste so good,” you say up at him with big wet eyes, “Like I always imagined you would.”

“Fuck–” he snarls, “Killin’ me,” and he’s jerking you up off the floor roughly, pulling your knees apart to settle you in a straddle on his lap, pressing you close with a hand on your ass so that the wet heat of your cunt is meeting the heat of his cock. The both of you groan like it hurts, like you’ve been waiting for this for longer than is right, and he pulls your mouth back to his, wet and messy, sucking on your tongue, gripping your hair so tightly, your eyes smart and water. You claw at his shirt, pulling it up, trying to get at his skin, and he pulls back suddenly, frustratedly ripping it over his head, and then coming back to your mouth, single minded in his dedication to having the taste of you on his tongue. You try and grind down on him, but he hitches you up higher so your breasts are level with his face. “This’ll be over ‘fore it’s even begun if we’re not careful,” he laughs as he settles you, cunt leaking against his stomach and turning the hair there sticky sweet with your slick, and slots his hand between your thighs, gives you something to rub yourself against while he kisses you. “Oh, baby, you’ve got the wettest little cunt,” he says between kisses, lips sliding down to suck at your neck, lifting your breast to his mouth to lick and bite at your swollen nipple.

And past sense, past restraint, you beg: “I want your cock, please, I want it so badly.”

“Nuh uh,” he grunts, “Not yet. You’re not ready.”

You whine and beg that you are, you promise you are, but he only sucks at your tits harder, presses his hand harder between your thighs, and you can literally hear the wet squelch of your pussy as you ride his palm, your clit grinding against his belly on the forward slide as you work yourself up into a frenzy, wet whimpers and a pathetic little tear or two slipping out in your frustration to come. Need you nice and soft to take me, sweetheart, he murmurs into the tender skin beneath your chin, but he decides to be kind, crooking his finger just so that it brushes up against your clit, setting off a shivery little orgasm fluttering through your belly. He laughs softly, humoring the silly little thing wiggling around in his lap that’s so desperate to come, decides to be kinder halfway through your orgasm and starts to slowly press a single thick finger into your hungry, clenching hole. Shit, you hear his curse, while you moan and cry into his shoulder, mouthing and biting at the sun freckled golden skin there, gnawing on him like some rabid thing. And then he says, a little teasing: “Just from this, huh? Just from a little wiggling around on daddy’s lap?” sending a wash of agonized relief through you as he wedges a second one of those thick, thick fingers inside to stretch you further. It’s what you’d wanted to call him from the first moment. Just one more thing said out loud. You nod your head against his shoulder, a whine and a breath and daddy, daddy, daddy, as he stretches you; make that sound again, he begs and pets and coos at you, yes, yes, I could come from that sound alone, gives you all the patience you’d always needed. “Look at all this slick you’ve made to take my big cock in your little cunt, baby. What a good girl you are.” He twists his wrist, fucks space into you with his fingers, “You’re so fuckin’ tiny – how’re you gonna take me in this little thing, huh?” He bites down on your soft breast, encourages the sway of your hips with his fingers hooked inside of you. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” presses a kiss to your forehead, scratchy beard against the sensitive skin there, gently stroking you into another orgasm around his fingers, petting at something raw and bruised feeling inside of you, sending you to tears.

He pulls his fingers from you slowly once you’re done, leaving your body to tighten and gape around terrible emptiness, and you feel the wet smear of your come on your asscheek where he grips you, searches and pets your asshole to slick it with your wet. “You want daddy to fix you?” He says then, “Want me to make you all better? S’what you want, right?”

You nod slowly, sniffle, “Make me good,” you mumble into his neck.

“But you’re already good,” and he takes away all your choices, the ability to argue or refute, “You’re already so good. A perfect, gorgeous girl.” Kindling in your veins, madness, something more desperate than anything else you’ve ever felt in your entire life, true hunger. Worse than your desire for your father to understand you, to love you, to not be angry, your fight to keep a husband that would have never stayed. You reach for his cock, trying to impale yourself on it blindly, shifting to press the hot, blunt head at your wet opening. He moans like a dying man, “Wait– wait, lemme get a condom.” He sounds like he’s begging.

“No, please, now.”

“Fuck– fuck, you’re so eager to jump on my bare cock without a rubber or anything.” But it’s only because no one has ever touched you like this, and when he grips the thick root of his cock and notches it as your cunt, pushes inside slowly, you realize he’s doing it in a way that makes you understand the difference between the man and the boy.

“I need to feel your skin,” you sound like you’re begging now too. Sighing in relief when he starts to stretch you, when it starts to hurt. It’s slow going, fitting the largeness of his body into your much smaller one. But his hands are steady and soothing as he works you down another inch, another, let’s you fuck yourself on his cock. Murmured praises and all of his desire for you and yeah, just like that, take daddy’s cock, until he’s fully seated inside of you, holds you down, presses and grinds there, thick tip made fatter by his foreskin kissing your cervix. Finally, he pulls you back by the hair, and your father-in-law’s cock is inside of you. “Want you to look at me while I teach you how to fuck– how to take a cock,” because he knows, because he’s always known, had the gross ability to read you exactly as you are. He shifts his hips back, presses up, up, up, inside of you, and his eyes are so beautiful, and he teaches you how to take a cock, not a little girl now, only a woman. You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss his face, lick his tongue, nibble on his ears, feel him all over, he’s all over and everywhere, and it should maybe be humiliating, riding the cock that made the man that was your husband, it should feel wrong or something like a sin, but it only feels, instead, like it was made for you. Like this is where you should have been all along. Once you’ve adjusted, he grips your hips tight and harsh, makes your skin smart enough you know you’ll have bruises in the shapes of his fingers and pounds up into you, the slick slide of your cunt sucking him deeper, taking him as hard as he wants to give it to you, swollen and sensitive, squeezes your ass and grunts and moans and says, yeah, baby, bounce on this fat cock, like it’s the only thing you’d ever have to do for the rest of your life. You wish it was. And the sounds he makes, that’s what really makes you come again, what sets off your orgasm while you’re riding him – the desperate, rough sounds of a man fucking up into a tight, hot cunt that’s wet only for him. It coils in you so tight it hurts, it hurts, and then goes loose and fluttery, pussy flooding around his thrusting length. You can’t even moan, mouth hanging open, proably drooling a little, probably crying a little, nothing but hot air and wet and not a little girl anymore, only a woman, and he doesn’t gentle, fucks you harder, rougher, squeezes your ass and chases his own orgasm. His thrusts going sloppy and uneven, his moans turning to cracked whimpers.

“I’m not on birth control… but– but my period’s soon,” you whisper into his ear, and he makes a noise not wholly human, going still for a moment, throbbing inside you, thinking, thinking of the risk, decides he doesn’t give a fuck by the murmured, fuck it, I have to, and starts to move again, harder, hurting on every punch up against the mouth of your womb. I have to, is what he says, and that settles something inside of you. “Gonna come in this pretty, tight cunt. Gonna make it all mine.” You decide you don’t really give a fuck either. “Make daddy come. Squeeze down on daddy’s cock – yeah, just like that. You wanted to play at being the big girl? Now m’gonna treat you like one – gonna fuck you full, baby.” And you’re nothing but want and yes and please and thank you, daddy. And that first spurt, that hurts too, burns you, changes something inside of you that you know will never go back to the way it was before. You’ll want that hurt for the rest of your life, and you won’t ever be able to forget it, and it might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, but the heat of it spurs on another small orgasm of your own, jars you with the swell and throb of his cock, fills you till the come from your cunt is leaking down onto his slick balls and the leather beneath. And he holds you through the whole thing, stroking and squeezing and tasting, taking sips of your mouth, pressing his breath back into you, breathing life into you. No longer a ghoul in the night either. You feel him go soft and yet still heavy inside, a muted bruise against your womb, sighing frequently as you settle, little kittenish sounds that have his spent cock stirring lazily inside of you while you leak and leak and leak and go drowsy and then just on this side of fully asleep.

“Are you okay?” You remember to ask in a small voice while his fingers play gently in the wet where you’re connected.

He makes a soft sound, like he’s humoring you, like you’ve surprised him. “Course I’m okay,” presses a kiss to your forehead.

When he shifts you off of him to stand, a protesting whine at the back of your throat, he shucks his jeans off with a soft grunt, finally as naked as you’ve been the whole time, and his cock hangs heavy between his legs, shiny with your cunt as you stare up at him while he looks down at you. Afraid for a brief uncertain second before he’s lifting you in his arms, and when he carries you to his bed after, you feel terribly like a child. Again that naivety, that hope, but it isn't a bad thing, here and now with him. Not something to be used against you, not a bruise or a wound or a lost limb, and you haven’t failed at being good because he’s already made you so.

You’re pressed right up beneath his chin when he wakes up. Your soft, warm form all along his side, lush tits and the vulnerable slope of your belly against his skin, and it feels so intimate, entirely twined around him as you are. He brings his palm up to cup the small bowl of your skull, and in the hushed morning light, your mistake breathes life into the world. Joel has always been a hard man. Joel has always been a hard man, but never weak, and certainly, not good, per se, but never cruel. But there’s something like weakness, there’s something that should be like cruelty here, waking up with you bare, still leaking his spend in his bed, and Joel can’t tell if that weakness, that cruelty is his, born of him or of his own making, he only knows that it should be here, probably is here. It’s difficult to gauge the moral acumen of what he should or should not be feeling when he has you like this beside him. And most confusing of all, that it actually feels nothing like a mistake. Only like it was always meant to happen, and now it finally has.

He’d come inside of you, worst of all, sense gone away in the night, couldn’t claim exemption from weakness now, filled you until you’d leaked down his balls, the woman who’d been the wife of his son, and he should feel guilty, he should feel disgusted with himself. A betrayer of his own child. But all he feels is that he needs it again. That he needs you again. That if he could, he’d keep you.

Joel had never wanted children. The thought or desire had never really crossed his mind… and yet– You make a sweet little keening sound in your throat right before you open your eyes, and he feels the stretch and wiggle of your little toes against his shins, the flutter of your long lashes against the tip of his chin. “Good morning.” Soft hand coming up to cover his mouth, hold him in place while you wiggle and slither all over him.

“How do you feel?” He’d expected you to be shy, regretful, nervous waking up, and to find you entirely not, to get to wake up to you like this, soft and warm and lovely in his bed smelling of his come and his sweat, smiling that pretty little smile; it’s the mightiest sort of victory. You drape yourself on top of him, all soft limbs and softer tits, and the heat of your cunt pressed against his belly as you nuzzle into his chest hair. You’re different now, compared to before, that exhaustion he’d sensed is closer to the surface now, more easily visible, as if your body’s been collecting it, pulling it from the depths of you, getting ready to finally expel it. But there’s a clarity about you now too, you’re tired, but you’re also more yourself. Or on your way there. So lovely it hurts, vulnerable and fragile but entirely yourself. Afraid too, he can tell, because it’s your right to be afraid, because it’s normal, because we’re all afraid sometimes. “Sore?” Another nuzzle, and then, settling on your cheek to look up at him with those gorgeous eyes that’d damned him from the very first moment.

“Just a little.”

“You did so well last night,” he pets your hair slowly. “You took me so well. I’m so proud of you.” And oh, you like that. Blooming, the temperature in your body seeming to spike suddenly, suffusing all your limbs, radiating from your belly. Shifting and squirming on top of him. His half hard erection, trapped between the two of you, aching already, and you try and rub yourself all along its length, hitching a knee up by his hip to open yourself. He gives you a rough sound to settle, but you want something from him now, trying to rub your wet pussy all over him. If he was younger, a man of less control, he’d be fucking into you already and without thought. “It’s time for listening now, little girl.” He grips your hair tightly, tilting your face up to look at him, uncurls his fingers to cup the small bowl of your skull and hold you in place. “Sometimes people need time, sometimes they need us to be patient with them, wait for them. That’s what you needed, and there ain’t anything wrong with that. And you’re not gonna feel bad or less for getting there a little more slowly than others. Everything comes in its due time, and that’s okay.” You’re staring up at him, wide eyed, something like fear or panic, but you’re going to listen to him if it’s the last thing he does. He fists your hair again, gently forces your head into a nod. “Agree with me now. Say yes.”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper very softly, pressing up to peck him lightly on the mouth. He catches you by the nape, a kitten picked up by the scruff, and holds you there, immediately turns the kiss wet and savage. You feel, so much, like you’re his, and this terrifies Joel. You aren’t his to keep, he knows this. He is not unaware of what’s happening here, of the consequences. He is not delusional about how this will end. But still, but still, you feel like his.

You’re back to you’re squirming now, whines and pleading moans as you try and rub yourself against his cock, and he reaches down to cup you, gently fingering at your folds, feeling the havoc he’d wrought on your pussy last night. “You’re so swollen, baby. Can’t fuck you again so soon.”

“Please, daddy, please, please. I can take it, I promise.”

“Not gonna hurt my soft little cunt.” The start of another whine, but he cuts you off, gives you a staying look, cranes his neck to lick into your mouth. “I’m not.”

“I want you so badly. I want you to make me come.” Tiny kisses and kitten licks to his jaw and throat. There’s fire in his belly, cock throbbing something fierce. He grips beneath your knee, opens your leg and pulls back to slot his cock between your thighs, up against your slick, swollen cunt, then presses your thighs closed back together tightly.

“Just like this – how ‘bout that?” He says as he starts to thrust up slowly against your pussy, trying to keep his movements gentle, careful not to hurt you. He runs his palms along the length of you, squeezes your tits and pinches and plucks at your swollen, sucked dark nipples. The signs of him are all over your body, and it makes him something like wild, infuses him with something like madness. Joel has never felt like this about any woman, ever. And to have it be you – to have this happen to him with you, there is something like weakness and like cruelty here. He needs to keep his head on straight. Remember what can and cannot be. He squeezes your ass tightly, digs his short-shorn fingernails into your soft cheeks, brings one hand up to get his fingertips spit slick, and then pulls your cheeks apart again to pet at your asshole. His gut goes tight and fire hot, he wants to fuck you here too. He wants all of you to be only his, his, fucking his. You hitch your hips in a desperate little arc as he presses gently on the tight ring of muscle, teasing you. “You like that?” He gruffs. “Want me to fill your little ass too, sweet girl?”

Yes, daddy, and he’s sure those must be the greatest words ever uttered to any man in all history.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he says while you sing and moan for him. “When I touch you like this,” he moves down to the wet mouth of your cunt, taps on it gently, “And like this,” further, a flutter at your clit while he fucks between your thighs, “And the way you cry when you come for me,” back up to press at your asshole again. “Will you do it for me again?” Christ, he’s going to end up taking you if he doesn’t stop, and he will not hurt you. With a rough sound of frustration, he flips the two of you over suddenly, laying you flat, kneeing your thighs open wide and spread for him. He shakes his head down at you, squeezes his eyes shut because the sight of your bare tits and messy hair and swollen lips, cock hungry blurry eyes, isn’t helping his restraint. “Gotta stop provokin’ me.”

“But it’s so fun, daddy,” you whine, arching to brush your breasts up against his chest. He lets his head fall, opens his mouth wide and takes the whole, heavy weight of your tit into his mouth, sucks hard, bites soft, switches to the other one, gives it the opposite. He pulls back then, going to his knees between your spread thighs and holds you open for inspection. Cunt all red and swollen and shiny with slick just for him. He’s sure if he pressed his fingers inside he’d be able to feel the slippery slide of his semen still. Another shake of his head, and he runs his palms down the soft of your thighs, cups the round of your knees in his palms. You jerk the right one back when he squeezes you there, and he fingers the sore spot, “What’s this from?” bends forward to press a soft kiss to the small hurt.

“I was in a rush last night,” you say shyly.

“Rush for what, silly girl? I was right here waitin’ for ya.” Your face does a little spasm at that, confused and vulnerable and then maybe even a little hurt, brow crumpling, and you squeeze your eyes shut. When they spring open again, they’re feverish, “Please, please, fuck me, Joel. Please, I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t–”

“Quit.” He pinches the inner slope of your thigh. “Not gonna convince me to hurt you.” You moan, frustrated and wanton, on the verge of tears, petulant and trying to twist away from him, but he traps you in place, stretches himself over you, propped up by one thick arm, and you drag your palms all down the length of his chest and belly. He squeezes your jaw with his other hand, pries you wide, “Open, lemme see.” He tilts your face this way and that, inspecting the wet gleam of your mouth, your little tongue and shiny, white teeth.

“Wha’re y’lookin’ for?” You mumble with your jaw wedged open, eyes comically large.

“Hmm, wonderin’ what it’d look like filled with my come,” he says with a laugh. He feels like a teenage boy, all the excitement of discovering sex with a woman for the first time. And it makes his stomach hurt a little bit, his heart pinch in fear. He sticks his fingers in your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, widening the angle, “You think my cock’ll fit in that little throat?” And you moan, eyes fluttering shut, writhing beneath him, begging for it, a garbled groan that sounds something like please, let’s find out. “Dunno… should we?” He let’s go of your face, goes back to his kneeling position between your legs, and finally gives his aching cock the relief of his fist squeezing tightly around it. He could come just from the sight of you, he’s sure, is just there on the edge already. He squeezes hard, almost painful at the root, sliding up dry, scratchy calluses catching at the soft skin around his head to make it hurt and sting, strangling the heat he feels pooling at the base of his spine and in his balls. He smiles at the memory of your wide, comically shocked eyes when you’d realized he was uncircumcised. I’ve never seen one like that before, and all he’d stupidly wanted to say was that you’d never see any other ever again. Ridiculous.

He drags his thumb over the head of his cock, through the sticky drool of precum there, then reaches to pet through your slick soaked folds, parting you down the middle. You watch him with wide, wet eyes, as he pops his thumb into his mouth, humming around your combined tastes. “You wanna taste how good we are?” All you’re able to manage is an open mouthed nod. He leans forward and over you again, “Open,” he orders, and spits onto your waiting tongue, hand clamped around her jaw. “Close now – swallow. How’s that taste?” He asks when you obey so nicely. Your eyes flutter shut, jaw shifting from side to side as you savor the taste of your shared want for each other.

“S’good. Want more.” You look back up at him, mouth open, and nothing in his whole life has been scarier than this. Not even a twenty something year old son, who should have been a man, but was still nothing but a child in such desperate need of his father, showing up on his doorstep one day out of the blue. There should be guilt in that Sam-shaped spot inside his chest, he’s sure of it, and maybe there is, maybe there’s a bitter ribbon of guilt threaded all the way through him, but it’s also entirely overpowered, overshadowed by the desire he feels for the little girl splayed out beneath him. He pulls back again, tries to temper the rising heat in his core, takes hold of his cock again and starts to slowly jack himself. “Finger that little pussy, lemme see. Be gentle with her.” But he grips your hand right as your fingertips are about to make contact with your glossy folds and brings them to his mouth, spit slicking them, there you go, before giving them back. You play in your wet, watching mesmerized as he slowly jerks himself off to the sight of you, circling your swollen clit, thrumming at it gentle, gentle, be soft with her, petting at the leaking mouth, winking at him, begging to be filled. He shifts closer, squeezing and twisting at his tip, pulling the skin back to make the bulbous dark head bulge. He wants it to hurt, he deserves for it to hurt. You watch the rough handling of himself like you’ve never seen anything like it before, head tilted on your neck so your cheek is squished against your shoulder to get a clear view of what he’s doing to himself. “You want it so bad,” he teases, and you nod, looking back up at his eyes. He shifts forward a little closer so that the backs of his knuckles are brushing up against your sex now, wet and sticky, and you let your fingers trail up his wrist, his forearm, while he quickens his pace, moves against you, over himself. You spread yourself a little wider, bringing your knees up higher to your chest, opening yourself for him, and he pulls his hips back a little, you want to come, he can see it in your eyes, you’re almost there, presses the tip to your wet clit, slides down the to the hungry mouth, circles, circles there, presses just a tiny bit. You’re nodding your head up at him, goading him on, please, please, just do it, please. “Not gonna,” he gruffs. “Not gonna convince me.”

“You’re so mean,” you cry, arching your hips, writhing, trying to find firmer pressure.

“Didn’t I tell ya last night I wasn’t gonna be nice?” But he takes pity on you, presses the fat head just a little harder, gives you just the tip, grinding breathlessly against it, popping it in and out of your hot little cunt. “Better?” His whole body feels like one boiling vat of hot blood, sweaty and desperate, grunting, more animal than a man. “Gotta come just like this.” He quickens the jerk of his fist, bumping it into your clit on the slide forward, watches the stretch of your cunt taking just the first inch of him. He feels unhinged, thinks for one second of just fucking all the way in, hearing the sound of your cry as you take the hurt. He has to be able to do this all again, entirely, have you again the whole way “God, baby,” he groans, “You’re gonna let me fuck this tiny little pussy again, right? Tell me you’re going to let me fill it with my cock again?”

Please, please, daddy. Please. “Just do it now.” Joel doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything like the sound of you begging for his cock, anything as pretty, ever. “I– I need to–”

“I know what you need, baby. Just let daddy put his come in you, and then I’ll take care of you.” He’s just there, one last harsh squeeze and twist, and there’s warmth flooding his cock and balls as he starts to come for you, covering the entirety of your sex with his white milky spend, groaning like he’s dying. He pulls his hand from his spent cock, smearing his semen into your skin, little begging whimpers of his name and daddy, please from your mouth, and he spreads your legs and lowers his mouth to your swollen sex, eats his own come out of your cunt, pressing two fingers inside, slow and gentle as he can, to give you something to bear down on. He laps softly at your clit, soothing the ache, eats you until you’re going tight as a fist, cunt sucking his fingers as deep as it can and gushing all over his face, slick pooling in his palm where he laps and slurps at it when he’s unlatched his mouth from your pulsing clit.

“I don’t think I can stay away from you,” he tells you later, while he dresses you slowly, sits you on the bathroom counter and brushes your teeth for you with his own toothbrush and combs the knots and gnarls out of your hair. Holds your cheek cupped in the palm of his hand as he drags a warm washcloth over your sweaty face.

“Don’t want you to stay away,” you say in a small voice as you paw at his chest, twisting his t-shirt in little grabby fingers, pulling him into the cradle of your hips with sharp heels at the small of his back; needy, needy, needy thing. And worst of all, a sick part of him, something bitter sitting heavily on his tongue, wants to be the thing you need, the thing you’re desperate for, the thing you cry those pretty tears for. He’s weak now, he is. Joel finds in himself that he does have the capacity to be a weak man when the moment demands it of him. He shucks the washcloth into the sink, cups your face in his hands like something precious. He’d said once you were a gift, he’s sure of this now more than ever.

And he tells you, because he knows he must: “We can fuck, but we’re not allowed to fall in love,” and tells himself that he only imagines the glint of defiance in your eyes when he says it.

- That meeting in the dark had stayed with you, the sound of his voice telling you to leave his son, that you deserved better. The sound of his kindness, you’d stretched toward it like a flower seeking the light, the singular attention of a man like that. You’d gone over the memory of it over and over again in your mind, worn the edges of it until it was faded and worn. And when Sam had served you the divorce papers, and you’d all but gotten on your knees and begged him to please, please, stay, please, don’t leave me alone, that sound of kindness had been what you’d clung to through all the rest. That terrible clamor of failure and abandonment and not good enough, his kindness had remained, and you’re sure now, that it had brought you here too, to his home, to his bed, into his arms. This was where you’d always been meant to end up, perhaps, even from that first moment you’d met Sam all those years ago on the college green, in the arms of his father. Nothing could feel wrong after kismet like that, even if you weren’t allowed to fall in love.

Part III

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#pink fic #Joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #the last of us au #joel miller imagine

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pedroshotwifey · 9 days

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Do you think you could write a nervous Joel fic... like he's older and a single dad and hasn't dated in a REALLY REALLY long time...but he's still really sweet, maybe he has to stop and eat reader cos he's about to cum too soon or something 🤷‍♀️😭

Hey, babe!! So I hope this is what you were hoping for! It's super tender and I did end up listening to Hozier for a good portion of it, so do with that information what you will 😅

Also, I kind of did something a bit different and wrote it more from Joel's perspective, but it's still in 2nd person (pronouns = you)! Pls lmk how you feel about it ❤

Pairing: Older Joel Miller x afab!reader

Tags/warnings: Age gap (not specified), piv sex, oral sex (f), vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, established relationship, (almost) premature ejaculation, accidental love confessions 🤭, self deprecating Joel™, big dick Joel™, kissing, stuff I'm probably forgetting

W/C: 1.9k

Summary: Your and Joel's first time together turns into so much more.

What Matters

“Are you sure, baby?”

Joel watches as your eyes flick up to him, only kindness and patience in them. Even as you smile warmly and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him to you, he still has a sense of cautiousness in his movements. You’ve probably lost track of how many times he’s asked you if you’re sure.

“Yes, Joel, I’m sure,” you laugh breathily.

You’re both lying in his bed, half-naked. There’s a soft summer breeze coming in through the window and rustling the sheer curtains. The sun’s going down, but just barely, causing a perfect golden hue to coat the room. He can’t help but think that you look even more gorgeous than usual in this lighting.

Joel tries to ignore the nervousness in his stomach as he softly kisses your jaw and nuzzles up to you. He’s not stupid, he knows that you know he’s just trying to waste time, but you let him. You’re so fucking sweet like that. Always making him feel so wanted and appreciated. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be with you in this way, but that he’s worried he won’t be perfect for you. He wants to be able to show you affection in the same way that you show him.

But what if he can’t?

You’re younger, after all, and he’s not been with a woman in so long. Maybe not since Sarah’s mom. If that’s the case, it’s been about fifteen, sixteen years. Point in case, you’re probably used to boys who can last longer and can make you come every time. What if he can’t? What if it’s been so long now, that he only lasts a couple of minutes?

It terrifies him, the prospect that you may be disappointed in his performance. What if you decide to leave him because he’s not enough to get you off? No, he realizes, you would never do that. You’re so good, so thoughtful and generous and patient. You’d wait for him, help him get back to the point where he used to be.

But that’s not what he wants. He wants to be good for you now.

“Joel?”

His name falling from your lips has his head raising back up. You look into his eyes with a desperation that he simply can’t ignore.

“Please,” you whisper before planting a feather-light kiss to his lips. He nods slowly before he can think about it.

“Alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And he does, he knows it. He just hopes he can do it right.

You’re already prepped. He spent probably half an hour fingering you to orgasm even though you had begged for the real thing each time you fell apart on his hand. It’s another thing he was worried about—being so big. Joel’s not a super cocky man by any means, but he is aware of his…attributes.

He watches you carefully as he grasps his cock and guides it to your slippery entrance. Your eyes flutter shut as he pushes in, giving you about an inch each time he thrusts. His jaw goes slack once he’s about halfway in. You’re so fucking warm and wet and inviting. He keeps going, trying to keep his breathy whines at bay. He’s again reminded of just how long it’s been since he’s felt something other than the palm of his hand around himself.

“Shit, baby,” he breathes as he bottoms out. He closes his eyes in concentration and lets his head hang next to yours. He already feels like he might blow his load at any second. You bring a hand up to cup his head and thread his curls through your fingers, holding him close. His breathing is heavy when he lifts himself back up to look into your eyes.

His heart seems to skip a beat when he sees the adoration you’re looking at him with. It kills him every time. And no matter how many times you tell him that he deserves all your affection, he knows he’ll still find a lingering doubt in the back of his mind. There’s a reason the two of you have only been “together” for about four months even though you’ve been shamelessly flirting for about a year.

It was just too good to be true. For such a sweet, gentle thing like you to want a rough old man like him. He was never the one to initiate anything, but he knows you’ve been aware that he had his sore eyes set on you since you met. How could he not? He’s never met anyone so kind and considerate. It was impossible to deny you of him any longer when it was one of the only things you’ve ever wanted for yourself.

“You okay?” Your honeyed voice reaches his ears—or his good ear, rather—and he smiles at you.

“‘Course, baby. Jus’ gotta give me a second, alright?” He can feel his cheeks getting a bit rosy at the confession. “It’s been a minute.”

You nod, still no hesitation or any sign of regret. God, what did he do to deserve you?

Once he collects himself, he pulls out just barely, and a groan tumbles from his mouth to mingle with your soft moan. He’s already starting to sweat from the effort of not coming too soon as he starts to push into you at a slow but rhythmic pace. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and tuck your head into his chest as you whimper with his thrusts.

“You feel so good,” you whine.

“Fuck, sweetheart, so d’ you. “Like goddamn heaven.” And you do; overwhelmingly so.

He cradles your head and lowers the two of you even more to deepen his thrusts. He knows he’s found your spot when your breath catches and you start to tighten around him every time he pumps his hips. Unfortunately, this makes it a lot harder for him to keep his composure.

“H-honey, I have to pull out,” he grits out. He’s so embarrassed, it hasn’t even been five minutes. He won’t last long enough for you to come before him.

But you just nod into him, even though you must be devastated by the loss of your orgasm. “It’s okay, Joel,” you breathily assure him.

He pulls out and squeezes the base of his cock, out of breath. He doesn’t meet your gaze as he starts to apologize.

“I’m sorry, baby, I—”

“Joel,” You stop him by carefully grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at you. “It’s okay.” You nod, waiting for him to do the same before you continue. “Take as much time as you need. I love you no matter what. This does not determine—”

You both realize what you said at the same time. Joel’s eyes widen and his chest feels like it caved into itself. Your lips stay still, parted in the middle of your sentence. Joel doesn’t realize tears have gathered in his eyes until his vision starts to blur and a smile spreads across his face.

You love him. You said it. And he believes you.

“I love you too, baby,” he whispers and lets his forehead rest against yours. “So damn much.” Fuck his age and whoever might see a problem with you being together. He wants this, and you want this, and that’s all that matters.

Then you’re both laughing shakily, pressing kisses to each other’s lips. He only stops to start trailing them down your body instead, watching you writhe as his mustache tickles your bare skin.

“Joel, p-please,” you beg quietly. Joel just huffs a small laugh through his nose as he lays himself between your legs, ignoring his protesting knees as he admires the entirety of you laying out just for him. You look fucking beautiful covered in a thin sheen of sweat atop his sheets, needy and panting all for him.

He doesn’t waste too much time before putting his mouth on your sweet pussy, his tongue dragging up your slit to flick at your clit. Joel moans at your taste, sending vibrations racing toward your swollen bud. Your hips buck as your hands fly to grasp at his hair, tugging lightly and making his eyes roll back.

He feasts on you like his life depends on it, worshiping you with all he has. He takes turns in running his tongue up you, fucking you with it the best he can, and suckling on your clit. He looks like a damn mess as he does so, his eyes not leaving your cunt unless he’s watching your face contort with pleasure. When you make eye contact with him, he knows he must look fucked out and desperate just based on the way you groan and lay your head back.

It doesn’t take much for you to get to the edge, and it takes even less for him to push you over. You let out sharp, whiny sounds as he sucks on your clit and slips a couple of fingers inside of you to grip on to. Your entire body goes tense, and Joel has to resist the urge to smirk against you as you shake with the force of your orgasm.

By the time you’re coming down, he’s back over you and slipping his tongue inside your mouth to share your taste. You moan into the kiss and pull him closer as he once again glides his tip into your cunt. Just as he had hoped, the distraction calmed him down enough to hopefully give him some more time.

You both melt into each other as he bottoms out, the tip of his swollen cock hitting your cervix and making your thighs squeeze his torso. He starts at a faster pace than last time, too deep in his lust-filled haze to even try to slow down now.

You pull away from his mouth to start leaving love bites on his neck, making his cock twitch inside of you with each pinch. He can feel you smile against his skin, and knows that you’ve found his secret. He does like a little pain with his pleasure. You keep going, sucking and biting marks before licking soothingly over them and moving to the next spot. You taste him like you’re addicted, like you could never possibly get enough.

It still doesn’t take him as long as he would like to before he starts to feel his balls drawing up and his thighs start to shake. His head goes foggy as he tries to hold on for you, but it’s too fucking much. He can’t hold it off when you feel so good around him. It’s like torture to stave off his orgasm when he’s thrusting into your soft heat.

“Where d’ you want me, honey?” Joel asks you, his voice strained.

“Inside,” you whisper against his neck without a second thought.

And it throws him over. He groans your name as his body stutters and his balls empty, coating your walls with his milky spend. It seems to go on forever. Each time he thinks he’s almost done, there’s another spurt and another wave of pleasure that tugs him deeper into euphoria.

When it does end, he lets himself half-collapse on top of you. You embrace him with welcoming arms and the two of you catch your breath together in the now dark bedroom. He only pulls out once sleep threatens to take the both of you. A shower, snack, and a glass of water later, you both snuggle up together and fall asleep with content smiles and full hearts.

*****

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spectr3inl0ve · 3 months

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I have multiple questions about cradle robber!bruce wayne:

- What was Damian’s reaction did he also tease his father and was okay with the relationship or was he hostile and mean to reader but warmed up later on?

- what was the media’s reaction? Was it the stereotypical “older man date’s younger woman” type of coverage

- did Bruce tell reader he was Batman or is he still keeping it hidden from her?

🦪 anon

ooh I think that damians initial reaction would be disgust, because of the age gap ("she's dick and jasons age! this is highly inappropriate, father."). if bruce didn't tell damian to be nice and polite to reader when they meet each other for the first time, he would be criticising both her and bruce ngl. but because he knows his dad is serious about reader, he keeps the little snips he makes minimal. the most ud get would be a, "'s this my new sister? did he find u in a smelly alley?". yes, he would eventually warm up to reader, giving her a small smile when she brings him a gift or pats his cheek.

when cradle robber!bruce wayne and reader first announces, or makes their relationship public, the headlines are full of scandalous headlines such as: playboy bruce wayne seen with [first and last name] - is he adopting her or dating her?, reader acts on her daddy issues! (I can't think of anything else:c). gossip magazines spread lies and assumptions about bruce and reader (bruce wayne has an appetite for women his eldest sons' ages! readers daddy issues are really showing with this unexpected relationship!). so yeah, the basic "older man dates younger woman" stuff. as their relationship progresses, the media dies down on insulting bruce and reader as much and start treating them like a regular celebrity couple.

bruce would obviously keep the batman and the other vigilantes away from reader for as long as he possibly can. until it starts to cause issues in the relationship; reader starts to notice how bruce (and his children, except duke) are almost never available at night, the unexplainable scars and injuries of varying levels, the fatigue, the ignoring, the hundreds of missed calls, and finally, how hes always home, but never around (hes in the batcave smh). bruce finally tells her when reader is sobbing into bruces chest, begging to know what she did wrong, why he barely talks to or spends time with her. he exhales a long sigh, and tells her he has to show her something. bruce leads reader to the batcave, rubbing her back as her sobs turn into heavy sniffles. he tells her, afraid of her reaction. bruce is relieved when reader doesn't freak out like he thought she would, rather understanding and sad that he hadn't told her sooner. (lowkey gonna make a post abt reader finding out cradle robber!bruce wayne is batman after I post this so look out!) reader puts two and two together, "...soo...damian is robin? and the others are...?" she sniffles, bruce nodding his head.

#°○☆spectr3inl0ve #cradle robber!bruce wayne #🦪 anon #monty loves dc #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne headcanon #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne x y/n #batman x reader #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne headcanon #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #dick grayson headcanon #ignore these tags im just trying to get more reach #jason todd headcanon #dick grayson imagine

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chiriwritesstuff · 4 months

Text

The Girl in IT - 3. Vroom Vroom

A Boss! Joel Miller x IT Specialist F! Reader AU

The LIST │ Series Masterlist

Chapter Rating: E (18+, MDNI)

Chapter Preview: "I want that Model X. Blacked out. The one that drives itself." He nods approvingly, not bothering to conceal his satisfaction. "Done. Anything else?" You can't help but scoff at the audacity. "Just like that?" "Just like that." "Come on, Joel. You don't just surprise employees with new cars out of the blue." "Well, lucky for you, you're not just any employee."

Chapter Warnings & Tags: No outbreak AU, Boss x Employee Relationship, Sugar Daddy Lite, Daddy Kink, Smut, SO MUCH SMUT, Age Gap, Praise kink, Overstimulation, Squirting, Older Man/Younger woman, So much dirty talk, DD/lg (kinda? they're both into it), Vaginal Fingering, Exhibitionism, No PIV (yet), Virgin Reader

Word Count: 6K

A/N & Chapter Notes: Two birthdays, ten years apart.

This is filthy, and I have no regrets.

Hope you enjoy!

Ten Years Earlier.

Joel lingers outside your house, the lively sounds of your 26th birthday party spilling into the night air through open windows. He adjusts the collar of his chambray button-down, opting for a change from his usual flannel attire. With his hair slicked back and facial hair neatly trimmed, he sighs, contemplating the small bouquet of sunflowers he acquired from a nearby florist.

His mind goes to the conversation he had with the florist earlier.

"Sunflowers? That's an interesting choice." The florist smiles, gently taking the flowers from his hand. "Did you need this wrapped? Maybe a bit of ribbon?"

Joel nods. "Please. It's for—"

The florist glances at him, a twinkle in her eyes as she observes his nervous demeanor. "Did you know that the sunflower symbolizes adoration? It's the perfect flower to give to someone you're interested in."

"Oh, it's nothing like that, It's for a... a friend. It's her birthday today."

The florist gives Joel a wry look. "If she's just a friend, might I suggest daisies? Surely they would be more appropriate and cheaper—"

Joel shakes his head. "The sunflowers," he motions to her hand. "Please."

He smiles at the memory, looking at the bouquet once more, knowing he made the right choice.

He spots you through the window, the vibrant yellow of your sundress gracefully accentuating your curves, creating an ethereal silhouette that seems to glow, like a beacon of light calling out to him. His breath catches in his throat as he watches you. A genuine laugh escapes you, a sound that always catches him off guard, echoing through the air with a light that he finds irresistible.

"Joel," your father approaches, his expression clearly showing his displeasure. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello Sir, Well, I'm here for a birthday party, and-" he lifts the invitation, "I believe I was invited."

"I can see that, but the question is why. Surely, a man of your age at a party filled with twenty-year-olds? Doesn't that seem... odd to you?"

"It's only odd if you make it odd, I reckon."

"Can I ask you a serious question? What are your intentions with my daughter?"

"Well, I would like to wish her a Happy Birthday, maybe eat a little cake-"

"... and how old are you, Joel? aren't you a bit bothered by the fact that your daughter is older than mine?"

"... well, she's not, sir." Joel smiles, "She's older than Sarah."

Unamused, your father continues. "I'm going to level with you. I'm not about to let my daughter be swept away by some middle-aged man barely scraping by." He shoots Joel a stern look, shaking his head in disapproval. "My daughter deserves the world, and quite frankly, I won't have her settle for someone beneath her. Not for some small-time contractor."

"Sir, that's not my intention at all. Sugar invited me, and-"

He shakes his head in disgust. "I think you should go, Joel. Take your flowers and go. You're lucky I let you still have this job."

Joel nods in defeat, his gaze lingering on you through the window. He takes a final appreciative look at you, radiant in your yellow dress, and offers a warm smile. Turning towards your father, he speaks with sincerity, "I apologize for any disturbance, sir." Joel strides purposefully towards his truck, adding, "Please convey my regrets to your wife."

Present day.

Joel: Hey Sugar, did you head out to the office yet? Sugar: Hi Mr. Miller, Good Morning! No, I haven't. Still getting ready. Should be heading out in 15. Did you need something? Did you get locked out of the company portal again? I told you that we change passwords every six months, I wrote it on a sticky note for you like you asked! Joel: No, Sugar, I haven't. It concerns me how little faith you have in me. I am not that hopeless! For your information, I am not in the office yet. Sugar: Oh? So it wasn't you and Ellie trying to figure out how you managed to print the printer manual ten times over last week? Joel: I'm sure that was Tommy, but it's ok, I forgive you. Anyway, does this mean you're still at home? Sugar: Sure, Joel. Ellie would say otherwise. Yes?? Joel: ??? Not sure if you're at home? Sugar: No. Yes. I'm at home. Joel: Good. I'm outside.

"Joel," you say, locking your front door, looking surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm kidnapping you for the day," Joel announces from his truck. "Thought I'd give you a ride to work." He winks as he exits out of the cab, wearing a chambray shirt and jeans instead of his usual work-issued flannel. It's a nice change, being that you didn't think the man owned anything other than flannels. "Come on, I've got coffee and donuts."

You give him a wry smile. "What if I'm not a coffee person?"

Joel presents a coffee to-go cup, a tea bag tag hanging out. "Lucky for you, I've got your favorite green tea."

"Smooth move, Miller," you grin, approaching him and planting a kiss on his cheek. "Very smooth."

"What can I say? I have excellent attention to detail, especially when it comes to you."

"Just not with computers, right?"

"Alright, alright, none of your teasing this morning, why don't you hop in," Joel grins, holding the passenger door open for you. You slide into the truck, still puzzled by his unexpected visit.

As he drives away, the scenery doesn't match the route to the office. You raise an eyebrow, looking at Joel with a playful smirk. "This doesn't look like the way to work. Where are we going?"

"Well, if I told you, then it would ruin the surprise, now would it?"

You snort. "What's happening today that's so important it warrants a surprise?"

Joel glances at you, a wide smile on his face. "A little birdy told me that it's someone's birthday today."

"Yeah and? It doesn't mean that we blow work off, I actually have a scheduled meeting with Tess today-"

"Fuck Tess."

You frown. "Joel, be serious."

"I am serious. I handled Tess. She's fine, don't you worry your pretty little head off, she's ok with pushing back to tomorrow."

You look at him warily, sighing. "I got a bad feeling about this."

Joel reaches over and kisses your forehead. "Don't frown, baby. None of that nonsense is allowed when we're together, okay? Just let me do something nice for you on your birthday. Nothing too crazy, promise."

"Why do I have the feeling that you don't mean that?"

Joel drives into the mall's parking lot, heading towards Neiman Marcus, driving into the nearest parking stall to its entrance.

He cuts the ignition to the truck. "OK, I don't promise. I intend on dragging you into the store whether you like it or not, sliding my shiny Amex to the first salesperson I see, and spoiling the absolute shit outta you. Do you have a problem with that, baby?"

"What if I allow you to spoil me from the comfort of the clearance rack?"

"Sorry to break it to you, baby, but this Amex won't work on anything discounted. Do you know what it means to have a black one of these?"

"That you have a big cock and an even bigger ego?"

"Funny. What it really means is that I can walk into one of them Tesla dealerships and buy you a Model X before you can ask me if I'm being serious." He takes your hand in his. "Because I am. Serious, that is."

You scoff, sinking further into your seat. "You're not going to buy me a Tesla."

He laughs. "Maybe, maybe not. I do know you need a new car, and I know one thing for sure—" He gives you a wry smile as he lifts your chin to face him. "There's no way in hell I'm going to let you drive that damn death trap anymore, Sugar."

"Hey! I'll have you know, I've had that death trap since college, it's the first thing I bought without my father's money!" you huff, "Now that I'm not in the ninth layer of Hell at Best Buy anymore, I can finally afford to buy myself a car. You know, something sensible, like a Kia."

"A Kia? Baby... only more reason for me to buy you a new car. Tell me, if you could have any car, money, and cost be dammed, what would it be? Sky's the limit."

"Seriously?"

He leans in, eyes challenging. "Try me."

"I want that Model X. Blacked out. The one that drives itself."

He nods approvingly, not bothering to conceal his satisfaction. "Done. Anything else?"

You can't help but scoff at the audacity. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Come on, Joel. You don't just surprise employees with new cars out of the blue."

"Well, lucky for you, you're not just any employee."

A smile tugs at your lips, appreciating the unexpected attention. "Really?" you playfully inquire. "So, I'm more than just a random employee, huh?"

Joel gently caresses your chin, offering a small, satisfied smirk.

"No, Sugar, you're not just some random employee," he declares, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. "You're everything."

"You don't mean that—" you stutter, "Joel, what's going on? Why are you doing this? I'm not someone to be bought or bribed like I'm some sugar baby. I liked you back then, before all of this—"

"When I had nothing? When my company was still in the red, when your father's job was the only one turning a profit," he peers down at you. "What if I told you that I wouldn't be in this position if it weren't for you? If your father didn't talk some sense into me all those years ago, I wouldn't have worked my ass off to get where I am now."

Your eyes narrow. "What are you talking about?"

Joel lets out a heavy sigh, his gaze intense. "Your father made it clear back then that I wasn't good enough for you. He didn't think I was the right fit for you. He did me a favor if I think about it now. It was your father's skepticism that fueled my determination to prove him wrong, to build something from the ground up."

Your mind races, trying to grasp the weight of his revelation. "But why keep it a secret? Why now? You didn't give me any signs that you were interested in me, I even invited you to my birthday party, which you didn't even bother showing up to!"

Joel winces. "Yeah, about that-"

Your face softens. "Wait, Joel, the sunflowers?"

"Your father made sure to point out the inappropriateness of a middle-aged man attending a party full of co-eds. Thinking about it, it wouldn't have been a good look, especially since I couldn't take my eyes off of you, wearing that yellow dress… I was enchanted by you, baby girl."

You blush, smacking his shoulder. "Oh, that dress was horrendous. My mom made me wear it!"

"Well, remind me to thank your mom for giving me the mental image I've had of you all these years."

"You know, that explains why the sunflowers were in the trash can, I thought it was so odd! They were beautiful, by the way. I snuck them out and kept them in my room, you know." You shake your head. "I can't believe my dad would do something like this. I hate that I stuck around for so long. I wish I knew, Joel. Back then. You were the only person I looked forward to coming that night, and when you didn't, I thought-"

"Well, I was there, baby."

"… but you didn't stay! How was I supposed to know?!"

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. "I didn't want you to feel like you were settling or that my feelings were tied to any of this. I needed to prove myself first. I didn't want you to think I was using you or that I wasn't good enough for you."

A mix of emotions swirls within you—surprise, confusion, and a hint of realization. "Joel, I had no idea. But why go to such lengths now? Buying me a car, showering me with gifts?"

He looks into your eyes, his expression sincere. "Because, despite everything, my feelings for you have always been genuine. I wanted you to see that I can give you the life you deserve and that I've overcome the doubts from back then. I had nothing to give to you back then, hell, I was being eaten alive by debt, I couldn't put Sarah through college - she worked her ass off trying to get as many scholarships as she could on her own. I wasn't in a position to make you mine, not yet."

"Joel," you say, taking his face in your hands, a sad smile on your face. "Do you think I care about all of this? I would have been with you then, all you had to do was ask."

"Well, I'm asking you now. Will you let me make up for missing your birthday all those years ago up to you?"

You give him a small smile. "Okay."

Joel breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay. Now, get out of the truck and into the store. That's an order."

You share a playful eye roll before complying, opening the truck door, and stepping into the crisp air outside. The familiar chime of the entrance doors signals your arrival at Neiman Marcus.

Joel walks beside you, his arm casually draped around your shoulders as you both make your way into the store. The ambiance of luxury surrounds you, and the scent of high-end perfumes lingers in the air. You can't help but marvel at the elegant displays showcasing the latest in fashion and accessories, the air smelling distinctively expensive and high class, something you would never associate yourself with.

"So, what's the plan?" you ask, hesitation evident in your voice.

Joel grins, steering you towards the women's clothing section. "I'm looking for just the right-" he stops midsentence, his eyes locking onto the stylishly dressed woman lying in wait for her next victim.

"Lenore!" he shouts, "Just the person I was hoping to find."

"Mr. Miller! What a delightful surprise," the saleswoman exclaims, her face lighting up. "What brings you here? how are your girls?"

"They're doing fine, thank you for asking."

"... and who is this pretty baby peeking out from behind you?" she asks, casting a warm smile your way. You instinctively recoil at the unexpected attention, a familiar sensation from the years spent trailing your mother at Neiman’s, deliberately making yourself inconspicuous to deter any unwanted conversations. It felt safer that way, you reflect, offering Lenore a slight smile. "There's our lovely girl. No need to hide behind this old dog; you're far more interesting to look at than he is!"

"Lenore, allow me to introduce you to someone very special—this is Sugar," Joel says with a proud smile, gesturing towards you.

"Sugar, what a sweet name! Pleasure to meet you," Lenore responds, extending a hand in a friendly gesture.

The tension from earlier begins to dissipate as you shake Lenore's hand and manage a genuine smile. "Nice to meet you too, Lenore."

"Sugar, why don't you take a look at the clothes over there and let me talk business with Lenore for a second?" You raise your eyebrows in suspicion, "Maybe you'll see something you like?"

Joel, his eyes gleaming with excitement, leans in and whispers, "Lenore, today is no ordinary day. It's Sugar's birthday, and I'm in the mood to make it special for her. We're going to be spending an obscene amount of money today, so I hope you're ready. You got your work cut out for you, I promise you that."

"Nothing can be as worse than the time I tried to convince Ellie to wear a gown for the prom last year," she winces, "Sorry about that again, Mr. Miller." She slides up beside Joel, flashing him a knowing smirk. "How obscene are we talking?"

Joel hands over his sleek black Amex, and Lenore's eyes widen in surprise. "Obscene. Don't let her talk you out of something because of the price, hell, rip off the damn tags if you have to." He steals a quick glance back at you, a vision standing amongst the designer goods, a subtle smile on his face. He glances at Lenore once more. "Do we have an understanding?"

The saleswoman nods her head frantically, pocketing the Amex in her pocket, the weight of it making an indentation through her blazer. "Understood, Mr. Miller. I'll fetch you a coffee and set up a seat for you in her dressing room. Is there anything else?

Joel nods. "Yeah. Do your worst, Lenore."

Lenore gives Joel one last look as she heads towards you, not hiding the fact that you look like a deer caught in the headlights. She places a hand on the small of your back. "Come along dear, we're on a mission." She gives you a conspiratorial smile. "You're in desperate need of Celine."

Lenore scrutinizes you for a moment, gently lifting your arms to assess your form. "I take it you're a size 10?"

Surprised, you ask, "How did you know?"

"Honey, I've been here for the last twenty years. Not only can I tell your dress and bra size, but I've also mastered the subtle art of reading people." She confidently places her hands on your hips, nodding to herself. "People are not as secretive as they think. I can dissect their entire life story the moment they walk in the door."

Curious, you inquire, "Oh? And what conclusion did you make about me?"

Lenore begins rifling through the racks, selecting a few monochromatic pieces. "Well, you seem to go through life trying to hide yourself."

"Is it that obvious?" you ask with a hint of self-awareness.

Lenore continues her assessment, her experienced eyes scanning the clothing options she's pulled out. "You go through life trying to hide yourself," she repeats, her tone thoughtful. "But, sweetheart, hiding doesn't mean you're weak or scared. It means you've faced challenges, learned to protect yourself."

She steps back, considering you with a knowing gaze. "We all wear different masks, dear. It's just a matter of finding the one that feels right for the occasion. Now, tell me, what's the story behind the layers you've wrapped yourself in?"

"Well..." you bite your lip thoughtfully, "Today is my 36th birthday. My mom, she had me when she was 26. By the time she was my age, she had her whole life figured out - the husband, the kid, the house. I remember thinking how much I wanted that for myself, how I thought my life would go... and now, at 36," you pause, sighing, "I don't have any of that. I'm not married, I don't have any kids, and I rent an absurdly overpriced shoebox that I share with my cat," you softly chuckle to yourself.

"It's not like I haven't tried to put myself out there. I have—met a few people, went on a couple of dates, which—I felt like wasn't terrible, you know?" You admire a sheath dress on the rack, adding it to the growing pile of pieces Lenore has accumulated. "...but it was always just a first date, and then rejection, maybe if they were kind, but most of the time I never hear from them again. After a while, after I hit 30, I just... stopped. I stopped trying to put myself out there. It's exhausting, and I can't keep wondering what makes me so undesirable."

"Sometimes... Sometimes I feel like I'm defective, too broken for anyone, not good enough to have the kind of life I want."

"Sweetheart, life rarely follows the script we write for it. Comparing your journey to your mother's or anyone else's is like comparing apples to oranges. Each story is unique, and yours is still unfolding," she reassures you.

She continues sorting through the clothes, selecting pieces that seem to resonate with your style. "Now, about those layers you wear," she begins, her focus returning to the task at hand. "Perhaps it's time to shed the expectations and judgments, not just from others but also from yourself. These layers, they're not defects; they're experiences that have shaped you."

Lenore hands you a beautifully tailored blazer and nods approvingly. "Try this on. Let's see how it feels."

As you slip into the blazer, Lenore continues, "You deserve a life that brings you joy, and that starts with accepting yourself. When you embrace who you are, others will too. It's not about being 'good enough'; it's about being authentically you."

Lenore, her hands expertly moving through the racks, pauses for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. "And what about Mr. Miller?" she asks with a knowing smile. "There's a story there too, isn't it?"

You glance at her, surprised by her perceptiveness. "Joel? Well, we've known each other for ten years, but we've only worked together for six months. There's nothing more to it than that."

Lenore raises an eyebrow. "Sweetheart, I've been around enough to recognize when there's something more. The way he looks at you, the way he cares—it goes beyond the confines of a professional relationship."

You hesitate, unsure of how to respond. Lenore gently continues, "I've seen people in love, and I've seen people trying to hide it. Joel's got a soft spot for you, dear. It's written all over him."

"Is it? because with my track record, all it feels like is me waiting for the other shoe to drop. I like him... I've liked him", you correct yourself, "...for a very long time. I tried to put myself out there to him back then, only for him to reject me. What makes me different now? What didn't I have then?"

Lenore listens attentively, her gaze filled with compassion. "Sweetheart, people change, circumstances change. What may not have worked before doesn't define your worth or potential now. Maybe back then, Joel wasn't ready or didn't see what was right in front of him. It doesn't mean you lacked anything—it just wasn't the right time."

She pauses, choosing her words carefully. "Love can be messy, complicated, and unpredictable. But if you feel something for Joel, and there's a chance he feels the same now, it's worth exploring. Give yourself permission to embrace the present without being burdened by the past." She gives you one last smile, her tiny frame effortlessly handling the mountain of clothes with an ease that comes with her years of experience. "Come on, we can't leave Mr. Miller waiting. He's already waiting for you in your dressing room."

Joel is already seated in the room one would call a dressing room, a vast space encapsulated by mirrors. Lenore places the clothes on the rack, giving the two of you one last-knowing nod as she makes her way to the door. "I'll give you guys some privacy," she winks, her hands on the doorknob. "You just holler if you need anything, okay?" You smile meekly at her as Joel nods. "Thank you, Lenore."

"Well', you breathe, making your way to the center of the room, taking it all in. "This is... something."

"It is, right? Perfect amount of mirrors to admire your form."

"It's just... a lot, Joel. I'm not used to seeing myself like this."

"Like what, baby?" He asks, making his way over to you as you fiddle nervously in place. Tenderly, he envelops you in his arms, hands brushing away stray strands of hair behind your ears. "Turn around and face the mirror," he softly directs, gently guiding you by the hips. You find yourself in front of the mirror, Joel standing behind you, his eyes locking with yours as his hands trace down your silhouette, fingers deftly navigating the buttons of your blouse.

"Let me paint a picture for you," Joel whispers in your ear, his eyes locked with yours through the mirror as he delicately starts to unbutton. "I see someone who drives me fucking crazy." Pausing at the last button, he eases your top from the waistband of your skirt, peeling the fabric from your skin to unveil the modest cotton bralette you chose for the day. "Beautiful," he breathes, slipping your top from your shoulders. A shiver runs through you as his hands graze your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

"You think you can hide yourself behind all of these clothes but I see you, Sugar. I've seen what's inside, and I would like to get to know that girl that's begging to come out of that shell of yours." His fingers linger on the elastic at your waist, his eyes silently asking for consent. You nod, taking a deep breath as he slowly slides your skirt down your hips, leaving you standing against him in just your underthings, your body suddenly on fire as he continues to hold you against him. You swear you can feel the hardness of his desire from behind as he continues to caress you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Will you show me?"

His fingers find the skin of your torso, and you shudder and gasp at how it suddenly ignites you, the fire you kept dormant for so long suddenly ablaze from his ministrations, leaving you breathless. He places wet open-mouthed kisses along the length of your neck, his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers start to travel down to your waist.

The corner of his mouth creeps slowly upwards. "Are you going to let me show you just how much I fucking adore you?"

You swallow thickly, nodding absentmindedly as you find yourself caught in his web, exactly where he wants you. "Yes", you whisper, "Please, Joel."

"Do you know how long I've waited for you?" he whispers, his fingertips grazing the outline of your panties, inching lower and lower, the sensation driving you mad with want. You instinctively rub your thighs together, your body craving more friction than what's currently being provided. Joel tsks at the gesture, shaking his head at you through the mirror. "You keep these legs spread for me, baby." His fingers wander upwards, hooking onto the elastic of your underwear, as he watches you closely, a question written across his face. He quirks his eyebrow at you curiously.

It was all you needed to know just exactly what he was asking.

You give him a tiny nod.

"Use your words, baby girl. I need to know for sure that this is what you want. I need you to be specific," he commands, his fingers twitching against your skin.

"Please Joel," you whisper, the entirety of your body trembling against his, "Please undress me."

He grins wickedly as he complies, the fabric slipping slowly down your hips, peeling gently down your legs. "I remember the day we first met at your house, how shy and skittish you were. I remember what you wore, even then," he says, taking his time, your panties caught on the ankle of your foot. He tugs them free, his eyes darkening as he realizes that they are soaked through with your slick, glistening under the lowlight of the dressing room.

You swear you hear his breath quickening as he holds them high against the light in reverence, tucking the scrap piece of fabric into his back pocket.

"Did you know that you were going to see me that day?" he asks, turning his attention back to you. "Is that why you didn't bother to wear a bra under that shirt of yours?" He shakes his head slowly as he places his hands on your hips once more, his fingers slowly making their way down to your inner thighs. "It was downright indecent, the fabric was so thin I could practically see your tits," his voice sounds more considerably wrecked as he slides his fingers upwards until they hit your slit, a calloused finger expertly parting your lips until they reach the button of your clit.

He stops. "Have you ever let anyone touch you like this before?"

You shake your head in response, your body arching against his as you desperately seek his touch. "I came close once, back in college, but I-" your voice gets caught in your throat as Joel eases his finger through your lips once more, his fingertips at the precipice of your entrance. You can't help the moan that escapes your lips. He pulls his fingers away from your heat as he reaches into his back pocket, reaching for your panties as he holds the wad of fabric against your mouth. "Open," he commands, stuffing your mouth with the fabric, the tang of your slick so sharp it makes your mouth water even more. "This is a public place, baby, I can't risk us getting kicked out because you can't control yourself, you hear? Nod if you understand me."

You nod.

"Good." He bends forwards slightly, his fingers parting your slit once more, your pussy lips quivering as he gathers your slick, his fingertips breaching your entrance once more. "I know you're still a virgin, Sugar", he breathes as he kisses your neck once more, his eyes locking onto yours. "I'm not going to fuck you with my cock in a dressing room, but I am going to show you just how you make me feel. Is that okay?"

You nod once more, your voice muffled through the fabric of your panties. He breaches your entrance slowly, the thickness of his finger filling you as your body jolts from the intrusion, your eyes closing in pleasure.

"Look at me, Sugar. Look at what I'm doing to you."

Your eyes shoot open as you see Joel adding another finger into you, the squelch of your wetness against his fingers echoing loudly throughout the room as they slowly pump in and out of your pussy, his fingers crooking inside you slightly as your hips shift against his erection. Joel groans at that, shifting his thigh between your legs. "Lean against me, baby. Watch as I fuck you with my fingers."

You look at yourself in the mirror, the straps of your bralette sliding down your shoulders as Joel fingers you in earnest, tears forming at the corners of your eyes as you wither and tremble against his thigh. Joel pulls the chair he was sitting on earlier towards the both of you, pulling his fingers out of you once more as he plops onto the seat, spreading his legs. He beckons his fingers coated in your slick at you. "Come sit on Daddy's lap like a good little girl."

You stumble inelegantly onto his lap, his hands spreading your legs to rest on his, spreading you out entirely as he gazes at your pussy in the mirror, your ass situated on his jean-covered cock as he starts to grind against you. He pulls your breasts out from the confines of your bralette, the slick of your pussy leaving a trail against your skin as he cups your tits, pinching your nipples as he groans into your neck. "Look at you," he praises, slipping his fingers into your pussy as he begins to finger fuck you into oblivion. You look completely debauched as he thoroughly fucks you, his groans growing louder as he continues to grind his cock against the swell of your ass.

"Sweet innocent little Sugar, playing hooky and getting wrecked by her boss in public", he spits, his fingers increasing in speed as you mewl against the fabric in your mouth. "What would everyone say, huh? Pulling into the parking lot with your brand new Tesla, walking into the office tomorrow morning in your brand new clothes Daddy bought you?" He rubs his thumb against your clit, your body arching back as you cry from overstimulation. "Are you going to take everything that I'm going to give you?" he pulls the fabric from your mouth, a line of saliva trailing it as you breathe harshly, desperately trying to even your breath. "I asked you a question, Sugar. Are you going to take everything I give you?" he rips his fingers out of your pussy as it clenches on nothing, whining from being so violently edged out. He slaps your pussy for good measure, and you swear you could come from the motion alone. "Answer me!" he growls in your ear.

"Yes!" you half-scream. "Joel, it's too much, I can't-"

"Yes, you can, baby. Fuck- keep grinding that ass on my cock, I'm so fucking close", he grips your hip harshly, his fingers digging into the meat of your skin you swear it'll leave a mark. "I can feel you quivering for me, baby, are you gonna come?" He's thrusting, thrusting so harshly against you it's almost to the point of pain, but you're so caught up chasing your release that the pain riles you up, you find yourself gyrating against his hardness as Joel nearly jumps out of his seat in response.

"Joel, what's happening? I feel so wet, you need to stop, I feel like I'm gonna-" You gasp, the pressure building within you so strongly it feels like you're going to implode. Your body moves in sync with his, the groans and shouts of pleasure building, the tears flowing freely down your cheeks. "It's too much, it's too-" You scream, a gush of wetness flooding out of you as Joel fingers you to completion, a look of shock on your face as he grips your hips and comes in his jeans.

"FUCK!" he groans as he shoots his load so violently you swear you can feel the ropes of cum through his jeans as he comes down from his high. You sob into his shoulder, his mouth desperately finding yours as he finally kisses you, his tongue running along the seam of your lips, begging for entrance as he grips the back of your head. You kiss him back in earnest, turning yourself around and straddling his thighs, your bare pussy raw against the fabric of his jeans. "Thank you," he mumbles against your lips, his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumbs wiping your tears away. "You did so good, baby, so fucking good, you came so hard for me you fucking squirted, FUCK! Such a perfect girl, my perfect girl-"

Your eyes widen in shock as you take in the scene before you, the wetness of your slick coating the surface of the dressing room. "Joel, I can't believe I-" You shift on his lap, panicking. "Fuck, Joel, what are we gonna do? I just came all over the dressing room, in Neiman Marcus for fucks sake-"

Joel chuckles softly, gently tucking your hair behind your ears. "Do you realize the power a black Amex wields? Silence. Lenore's commission today will be outrageous; a few stains here and there won't even register."

"But what if it ruined the merchandise? I haven't even tried anything on—"

"No need. Lenore's already taken care of it on the card. I trust her taste." He plants another tender kiss on your lips, retrieving a sleek silver card from his jeans pocket, the unmistakable Tesla logo gleaming.

He hands you the card with a smirk, and your eyes widen in astonishment as you delicately accept it.

"Happy Birthday, Baby."

The Updated List: (Line items 4, 15 & 16 completed this chapter_)

Taglist: @sarcasm-theotherwhitemeat, @gwendibleywrites, @joeldjarin, @brittmb115, @thewiigers,

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aphrogeneias · 2 months

Note

Rockstar Eddie sending assistant reader secret admirer flowers maybe? Maybe it’s when they’re not touring, back in town for a bit.

Idk if that’s the vibe or not but I think it goes with the secret romance vibes

-💛

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x assistant!reader

warnings: yearning. a ton of yearning. tooth-rotting fluff.

You'd never been one to be sad on Valentine's Day.

If you weren't already in a relationship, you were working too much to even think about it. Life on the road didn't give you the luxury of going all out on holidays, for the most part.

It made you happy, though. To see everyone in the crew calling their girlfriends and wives, planning dates for when they see each other next, sending them a letter in the mail, signed with all their love.

To see Rick, the perpetual bachelor, go on dates with a different woman every year, swearing he's ready to settle down this time. He'd ask you about yourself, “A nice girl like you doesn't have a date on Valentine's? I don't believe you, honey.”

You would tell him the same thing every time. “Worry about yourself, Rick. You're not getting any younger.”

If anyone else asked, you'd just say you were too busy. Too busy taking care of other people, seeing the country, looking for yourself in the process — and you always meant it.

This year, however, it had you slumping around the house, wrapped in a warm blanket and roaming your own home like a ghost. You were there physically, but your heart was somewhere in a small town in the Midwest, visiting his family before the next leg of the tour.

Selfishly, you wanted him here. You almost asked him to come with you, but you knew how much he missed home, with the way he'd been counting the days to see his uncle, his friends, and who were you to take that from him?

The longing took hold of your heart anyway, squeezing it tight in your chest, as you curled into yourself on your couch, not really paying attention to the romantic comedy playing on your TV set. It rained outside, the pitter-patter against your windows almost lulling you into sleep.

You pictured him there, wrapped around you on the couch. His warmth enveloping you, arms tight around you. In your kitchen, making coffee, helping you bake, washing the dishes. In your bed, messing up your sheets. His laughter booming across the walls, his whispers in your ear.

A golden halo around his wild brown curls. Your Sun, your Star.

A knock on your front door brought you back to reality.

Groaning, you stood, taking the blanket with you as a cape, dragging behind you as you crossed the living room. When you opened the door, there was a soaked delivery boy waiting for you, but he wasn't the first thing you saw.

In front of him, there was a bouquet of roses. A dozen, half of them red, half of them black, wrapped in brown paper, and tied with a pristine white bow. Dazed, you almost didn't hear the boy call your name, and last name, before asking to sign the paper on his clipboard.

“Who… Do you know who sent them?” You asked, giving him back his ballpoint pen.

“They're not signed. Have a good day, miss!”

As he left, and your door seemed to close itself behind you, the first thing you did was reach for your phone.

With your flowers still in hand, clutched to your chest, and the receiver on the other, you dialed the phone you had memorized, but rarely used. The one that was slipped into your back pocket by a heavily ringed hand, one you were told to call if you felt lonely.

Now was as good a time as any.

The gruff voice that answers after a few rings was not his. “Hello?”

“Wayne? Uh, this is…”

“Oh, I know exactly who this is. I was expecting you'd call.”

“Were you?”

The older man chuckled on the other side of the line. “The boy’s been talking about you all day, but he didn't want to call. Said you'd be too busy to sorry about his sorry ass. Figured it wasn't true, but you know how stubborn he is.”

“That he is.” You agreed, and there's an exchange you can't quite figure out at the other end. The phone rattled a bit, and a voice saying “your girl’s on the phone” came through, followed by more rattling.

“I'll let you go, kid. Happy Valentine's Day, there's someone who's desperate to talk to you.”

Without being able to help yourself, giddiness rising through your chest like butterflies, you giggled. “Happy Valentine's, Wayne.”

The next person to talk to you sounded a bit breathless. “Hey, sweetheart.”

The hand that was holding your heart tight let it go, and let it soar through your kitchen, as if it grew cartoon-esque wings. “Hey, Eddie. Do you, perhaps, know if I happen to have a secret admirer, I got these beautiful flowers but sadly, no note.”

“Oh, I don't know. You must steal hearts wherever you go, could be anyone.”

You could hear the smirk on his lips, practically feel his stare across the line. “Aw, that's a shame. I was thinking of returning the favor, but maybe he doesn't like me enough to make himself known.”

“Maybe he likes you enough to keep it a secret, who knows who else might be listening.”

With a sigh, your understanding came through without any more words needing to be said. It laid thick in the air. “I miss you."

“I miss you too. Did you like them?”

“I love them.” You answered immediately, simply. Maybe it was time to be sincere. “I'd love having you here more, though.”

“Baby, you're getting sick of me next time I see you, just you wait. The flowers are more of an early apology.”

“A threat, more like it.”

There it was, the laugh you loved more than anything. “Yeah. A threat, whatever you want to call it.”

“Promise me, then?”

Biting your lips in anticipation, you waited for his reply. Eddie’s voice came heavy with meaning, “I promise.”

Your heart and the cartoon wings that carry it through your ceiling spinned, and spinned, and spinned.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #nothing else matters

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itsgameofthronesimagines · 1 year

Text

The Good Queen

(Gif not mine)

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing(s): Viserys Targaryen x Fem!Reader, Alicent Hightower x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Harwin Strong x Alicent Hightower, Harwin Strong x Rhaenyra Targaryen, Daemon Targaryen x Alicent Hightower, Daemon Targaryen x Harwin Strong (I won’t apologize for everyone being gay for each other)

Tag: hotd the good queen

Warning: Fluff. Happy ending. No one dies (except Aemma, sorry love) and everyone lives. Age gaps. No feud. No greens or blacks. Slight gore.

Word Count: 3,901

Summary: The King must choose a new wife, and Alicent’s older sister, Y/n Hightower, is a suitable choice and a perfect match. For once, Viserys makes a decision that benefits everyone and upsets little few. The Seven Kingdoms are better for it.

Author’s Note: Not a request. Oddly enough, plenty request Otto imagines but never King Viserys. I thought I'd give it a try since I had an idea. But to be honest, Viserys x Reader are sort of background pairing/onlookers of this.

(I do not consent my works to be reposted/copied)

It was the most logical choice to pick the eldest daughter of Otto Hightower. It was also all part of Lady Y/n’s plan. After the death of her mother, she had become the guardian figure her younger sister, Alicent, truly needed in her time of grief and loneliness. Older and far more mature in beauty and wisdom, The Lady Y/n Hightower was determined to still give Alicent whatever was left of her childhood and did everything in her power to make her little sister feel loved and accepted. So if there were whispers regarding Alicent, Y/n likely knew about it. One night, her handmaid came into her room and warned her of whispers involving her little sister and the King. The maid spoke of Lord Otto placing Alicent where Viserys could see her after the death of the late Queen Aemma, and Y/n was beyond disgusted and furious.

However, instead of confronting her father, Y/n went behind his back and also placed herself where Viserys could see her. While she couldn’t stop Alicent from seeing the King at night without raising suspicion, she did, however, visited the King between meals and even ask Princess Rhaenyra if she could attend the Small Council meetings to act as another cupbearer. Rhaenyra, excited with the prospect of another woman being a part of the meetings, accepted the proposal. Y/n made sure to fill Viserys’ cup modestly and had even accompanied him in the royal gardens a time or two after that. It didn’t take much effort before he announced to his small council his engagement to her. Rhaenyra, sad but relieved her father found another wife, gladly welcomed Y/n into the family with open arms and was even more excited at the idea of Alicent being ever closer to being a part of her family.

The Hand of the King, however, was less than happy and voiced how displeased he was of her when finding time alone with his eldest daughter, “What have you done?”

“Done?” Y/n questioned from her vanity mirror, removing her earrings after a long day of the people of the court congratulating her.

“He was supposed to marry your sister.”

“Why would he want Alicent, Father?” Y/n tilted her head innocently at the reflection of Otto standing at a distance behind her, “She’s but a child.”

“In the gods' eyes, she is a woman grown.”

“So am I. I am the eldest, so why must she be married off first?”

“She’s the most comely lady in court.”

“If you think me ugly, Father,” she snarled, finally standing up and turning to face her father head-on, “Just say it and be done with it.”

“I had wished to marry you off to your cousin.”

“Ormund is Heir to Oldtown. Surely my uncle would want a better match for him to ally another large house to ours instead of within our own family. You’re a political man. Try to be smarter than the second son desperate for power.”

The insult strained their relationship if it hadn’t been strained already. Lord Otto barely spoke to his eldest daughter after that unless common courtesy compels him to do so, like complimenting her wedding dress before he gave her away to Viserys. Y/n may not have felt love when the King kissed her with the promise of affection and commitment, but she felt relief. Upon watching the way Alicent danced and laughed during the feast that night, entirely unaware and still innocent of childhood, Y/n knew she made the right decision.

It wasn’t long before Y/n was pregnant then the world as she knew it imploded with excitement. The maesters, after tending to all of the former Queen Aemma’s sickly pregnancies, were astonished to see Y/n flourish in quite the opposite direction. In a strange way, she was excited to be a mother, and practically raising Rhaenyra and Alicent helped with that dream.

At first hesitant, the princess grew to love Y/n as her stepmother, especially since the new Queen was her best friend’s sister. Even though Y/n was rumored to be carrying a son inside of her, Rhaenyra tried not to openly worry for her sake. She may be Viserys’ shiny new heir, but the idea of Queen Y/n having a son bothered Rhaenyra, even though Y/n tried easing her worries with the promise of always openly advocating for the princess’ right to the throne. This aggravated Lord Otto for obvious reasons. After Aegon was born, the Hand tried reaffirming his position over his daughter in order to persuade her into raising Aegon as the future king. In return, he got a stone wall, unmoveable even in the strongest of storms.

“You may be the Hand of the King,” Y/n had sneered at her father one night in the safety of her chambers, “But I am the wife to the King. I am the Queen.”

And with his daughter as Queen, Lord Otto found himself in lesser power than when she was just a lady of the court. With her baby boy on her hip, Queen Y/n attended many Small Council meetings, shameless at the stares of men around her when she took her seat next to Viserys, stealing the spot away from his Hand. Over some time, Y/n became to lean towards Rhaenyra when the princess poured her wine and offered small treats to her little half-brother. With the proper influence, Y/n had also convinced Viserys to grant his daughter a seat at the table, no longer a cupbearer. Y/n then happily stepped aside and let Rhaenyra sit next to her father while the Queen sat next to her own. By then, Lord Otto never felt further away from the King, physically and cognitively.

Even less so when his younger daughter was married off under his own nose. Like a carpet pulled underneath him, Lord Otto was forced to walk Alicent down the aisle and be handed off to her new husband, Harwin “Breakbones” Strong. Some wonder who could have ever picked out such a perfect match, while others looked no further than the Queen herself. With her father’s pawns now swiftly taken from him, Lord Otto begrudgingly asked King Viserys for his blessing to resign. Although shocked, Viserys only had to look to his wife before granting his Hand a dismissal.

Tail between his legs, Otto Hightower left for Oldtown, never to return to King’s Landing, even when his daughters produced him grandchildren. In his place, Lord Lyonel Strong was named Hand of the King and he was a better-suited friend to the throne, and most importantly, an ally to his Queen.

Queen Y/n was a busy woman, even while pregnant. Especially while pregnant. She couldn’t afford anyone trying to take away her power and influence when she was knocked down and so she was constantly on the move, no matter how round she got. Her daughter, Helaena, came quicker than Aegon, and so the Red Keep was filled with delight at the announcement of a new princess soon to roam the halls. Rhaenyra was delighted. She was spotted trying to teach the baby girl how to walk, letting her little sister hang onto her hands and trot over her own feet. Alicent was already a proud aunt, but she doted on Helaena much like Y/n used to dote on her own younger sister. It seems as though the Queen had been quite the influence between Rhaenyra and Alicent, both now fully grown, beautiful and proud.

If Alicent was missing her father, she never showed it. Instead, she spent her time excited when she learned she would soon be a mother herself. Watching Y/n raise her children, Alicent had grown to wish to be just like her sister one day. Harwin was kind to his young wife and understood his place in her heart must be shared with the people around her. He knew Alicent loved her sister, the Queen. He knew she loved her niece, Helaena, and nephew, Aegon, and above all, he knew she loved the Princess Rhaenyra. Harwin couldn’t blame Alicent. Harwin had grown to love her, too.

Y/n and Alicent were soon pregnant together, and it felt as though the Seven Kingdoms could not have had a more beautiful, plentiful summer that year. Everyone was happy, whether of the royal family growing or from the prospect of the harvest. Most of King’s Landing was always celebrating and most stomachs were full and warm. With the Queen and her sister expecting, the castle was alive with happiness and love.

However, Y/n knew there was one individual who was internally unhappy. She was no fool. The Queen saw the way Rhaenyra looked at Alicent and the way Alicent looked at Rhaenyra. Surely, Alicent’s unborn child sparked a deep-dwelling of sadness within Rhaenyra, longing still evident in her eyes. Eventually, Y/n saw the way Ser Harwin stared after the princess as well and knew that something had to be done. She wouldn’t dare dream of separating the three, but she knew that Rhaenyra had to marry soon or who knows what sort of rumors might blossom should someone else notice the tension between the princess, Alicent, and Harwin. Rhaenyra needed a husband, despite the princess making it difficult to find a suitor. Y/n knew where to look, but unlike the other times, it would take a lot more effort to convince the King of this match.

“No,” Viserys smiled, despite the clouds looming overhead, “Absolutely not. Daemon is not worthy of my daughter.”

“If you could have your way, no one would be worthy of her,” Y/n sighed, briefly smiling at her husband while rounding the Small Council’s table towards him, her hand brushing over the surface. They were alone at the moment, waiting for the other members to join them, “But she is your heir, and she’s no longer a child. She is unwed, and last I heard, Daemon had recently lost his wife, Lady Royce. As I understand it, their marriage was left unconsummated.”

“Others will look to him to be King, instead of Rhaenyra their Queen,” Viserys retorted.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Not everyone will be happy, no matter what decision you make, Your Grace.”

She reaches the King, her hands finding purchase on his shoulders as she crossed to stand behind him, rubbing his aging shoulders and physically feeling his body slowly uncoil and relax. Viserys sighs, long and exhausted, his fingers rising to rub his eyes, but instead reach further back and clasp Y/n’s hand instead. She squeezes his hand encouragingly, while Viserys still looked hesitant and forlorn, “He’s not worthy of her...”

“No,” Y/n leans down and kissed the top of his head, “But he does love her. And I think she loves him, too. They are dragons, Viserys, and your kin. Your house sigil requires three dragon heads. If Rhaenyra is to be Queen someday, then she will need heirs of her own. She’ll need dragons. This marriage proposal is not an unheard-of custom, especially for a Targaryen. This alliance will keep your legacy strong long after you and I are gone, and your reign over Westeros will remain peaceful long after Rhaenyra has passed on.”

The Small Council meets that evening, and Viserys announces Daemon and Rhaenyra’s engagement. For supper, that night, King Viserys and Queen Y/n sit beside Rhaenyra and invite the children and Harwin and Alicent along for the celebration as well. Rhaenyra’s eyes sparkled again for the first time in a while, and if Y/n noticed the tight grip her stepdaughter had on her hand, she didn’t comment.

Thankfully, Daemon was on board with this proposal and made no fuss when he was summoned to King’s Landing. Both he and Rhaenyra were married by the end of seven, long days of festivities. The newlyweds decided to temporarily part for Dragonstone, but both rushed back on their dragons when they received word of Queen Y/n and Lady Alicent both going into labor.

Aemond was a difficult delivery, but Y/n was, as always, overjoyed to have the infant brought into her arms. Down the hall, not long after Aemond was born, the Queen could hear a different cry coming out of her sister’s room.

Alicent birthed a son, Jacerys Strong. The whole kingdom rejoiced over their new prince and little lord. Many spoke about the bond the two would share growing up and strengthening the alliance between House Targaryen and House Strong. Lifelong friends were born that day, and Y/n could not wait to raise her children alongside her sisters'.

Rhaenyra quickly became pregnant as well, and by this time, Y/n had noticed the way Rhaenyra and Alicent hold onto each other as they roam the gardens, both of their husbands following them in tow. The Queen doesn’t miss the way the four often spend most of their time together, day and night. Sometimes, Y/n feels as though she’s intruding when watching them all interact. Rhaenyra and Alicent are usually glued to each other’s side, but if not, sometimes Y/n noticed Daemon accompanying Alicent and Harwin attending to Rhaenyra. There are times when even all three are attending to the princess as her stomach slowly grows. Now that she noticed this, Queen Y/n noticed other things as well, like how intense those training sessions between Daemon and Harwin can be.

For the most part, Y/n turns a blind eye and makes no complaint. She doesn’t say a word to Viserys, but she’s seen the way the King watches his daughter with her... group of confidants, and part of Y/n wonders if her husband sees it, too. Perhaps she is not the only one turning a blind eye in order to see Rhaenyra happy with the family her father always wanted her contented with.

Daemon and Rhaenyra’s firstborn is also named Aegon, nicknamed the Younger. Aegon the Elder was delighted when Rhaenyra confessed she named her child after her brother more so than the Conqueror. Viserys was a proud grandfather/uncle, holding the babe in his arms as he sat upon the Iron Throne to announce Aegon’s birth to the court. During the festivities, Viserys even made a lighthearted joke about how his darling wife was so young and it was nearly impossible to believe that she was now a grandmother.

More children came after that, though Daeron would be Y/n’s last after she broke out in fevers once she birthed him. She survived, but after that, both she and Viserys agreed that Daeron would be their last one. Alicent and Harwin bore two more sons, Lucerys and Joffrey, while Daemon and Rhaenyra had another son and a daughter, Viserys II, and Visenya. Despite a few age differences in between, all the children were raised together within the Red Keep and grew up nearly forgetting that they were, in fact, not all direct siblings. They were taught together. They trained together, sewed together, and fought together.

Ten years passed and they were the best years of King Viserys’ life, or so people claim. Even as his health declined, he made no room for sorrow, only joy when his children and grandchildren were involved. One of his favorite pastimes was overlooking the courtyard and watching as his children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews all played together. All of the Targaryen children’s dragons, still small with age, curiously watched them play as well, acting more like large dogs than fiery beasts.

As they got older, some of the boys got rougher. As siblings-who-are-not-really-siblings do, they all occasionally fight or they take their anger out in training. One unfortunate incident was between Aemond and Lucerys. Whilst training, it was clear that the cousins were angry at each other over something minuscule and so they tried to vent using the swing of their swords. Unfortunately, Luke swung hard and Aemond didn’t sidestep in time to avoid it. The very tip of the Strong boy’s sword slashed across Aemond’s eye, leaving behind an unspeakable scene full of blood and screams.

The Queen was summoned right away, directed to Aemond’s chambers where her son was already abed with the Grand Maester tending to him. It was a gruesome scene, even with the wound already cleaned. Aemond’s eye was swollen and angry, a long, ugly cut running through it, trailing down his cheek and over his eyebrow.

The maester moves away from the bed and allows the Queen to take his place by her son’s side as he explained, “I have given as much Milk of the Poppy as I could, Your Grace, but for a child of his size, it would be too dangerous to give him the proper doses he would normally need to relax. The pain has dulled, but it will linger.”

The Queen sits on the edge of Aemond’s bed, “It will heal, will it not?”

“The flesh will heal into a scar... but the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

Y/n’s face crumbles in distress, taking Aemond’s hand in hers while brushing some of his silver hair from his young face, “What happened?”

“An accident in the training yard, Your Grace, as I understand it.”

“Luke cut me!” Aemond cried in anger, “He cut me and I should have left my mark in return! I had my chance and I couldn’t take it! I wish I had!”

"Aemond," his mother warns, eyeing him with a look that only a mother could threaten with her child, “You don’t mean that. I understand your anger and your grief, but at the end of the day, what happened was an accident. Tragic, yes, but an accident. Luke is your cousin. He is a part of your family and he loves you. He would have never intentionally harmed you and you know it.”

She leans forward then and kisses his forehead, just above the top of the cut, "We can get you something to cover it up. Or, once it fully heals, we can replace it with a false eye. A diamond, perhaps? Ruby?"

Her lightheartedness softens Aemond’s anger, slightly, as he relents to his mother’s touch, leaning into her embrace as he entertains her idea, "Sapphire."

She leans back so he could see her smile of approval, "A fine choice, my love.”

The Queen stands up, taking her time to help Aemond lie down and get properly tucked into his covers. She lovingly pets his hair down as she turns to the maester beside her, “Grand Maester. Have some essence of Nightshade brought up to my son’s chambers. He needs time to rest and heal.”

“At once, Your Grace,” the maester bows then exits the room.

Y/n leans back down to her son one last time, bringing his hand up to her face to kiss his fingers, “Be hopeful, son. Women like men with scars."

She leaves the room and makes her long trek to the kitchens. Rounding a corner, she comes across her sister. Alicent was distraught and full of guilt, grasping the Queen's hands in hers as she cries, "I'm so sorry... Harwin and I will punish Luke accordingly."

"There's no need," Y/n is quick to reassure Alicent, her sisterly instincts kicking back in. The instinct never truly went away. It was dormant, but Y/n will always protect her sister, no matter how old she gets, "It was an accident, Ali. Aemond will not resent your son for it. I can imagine Luke is very distraught about what happened. You must attend to him. Reassure him that he was not at fault and I would never hold this over my nephew."

After she sent Alicent back to her family, Y/n returns to her original task and heads to the kitchens. She returns to Aemond's chambers a little while later, carrying a tray of food and drink for her son, ignoring the servants when they offered to carry it for her. Behind her, Aegon, Helaena, and Daeron are hovering in the doorway, poking their heads into the room and trying to get a good look at their brother abed. The Queen sets the tray down and turns back to the doorway with a knowing glance, “Come along. Dine with your brother but then leave him to rest.”

A picnic was made in Aemond’s bed, his mother and siblings surrounding him as they nibbled on bread and cheese. They talked about other things to distract the injured prince, telling stories about their day or laughing at a joke Aegon said. Viserys, in search of his family, limped into the room with his cane not long after, smiling softly at the scene before him.

After sending her other children away to let Aemond sleep, Y/n takes her husband's arm and carefully walks with him to her own chambers. His hair had begun to thin out and a hunch in his back drove him to lean forward or off to the side as he walked crookedly. He was no longer the peaceful, handsome king Y/n had married, and a small ache in her heart hammered every time she looked into his eyes, age spots and wrinkles beginning to form on his pale skin. Despite his troubles with his health, he still never looked happier.

"You are a wonderful woman, Y/n," Viserys held her arm in a firm grip, his kind smile pulling those wrinkles further up his face. His eyes dazzled warmly, happily, without a sign of a lie, "You're a good mother, a good queen, but most importantly you're a good wife. Had I not married you... I am not sure I would be surrounded by the most loving family and ruling such a prosperous kingdom. What would I do without you?"

Y/n smiled back, patting his arm affectionately as they make it down the long hallway of their home, "Best not to dwell on such a question, my love. The Seven Kingdoms are better off without knowing."

~~~

Viserys dies in his sleep a few years later. His health had gotten worse and the only thing he allowed the maester to administrate was the Milk of the Poppy to dull the pain. Otherwise, he didn't ask for a cure, nor did he try to even fight his illness. Many often wondered if, in the end, he was waiting to die. Others thought that guilt was a deadly illness and whatever secret the King had, died with him. After being given a window to mourn, the now Queen Regent, Y/n Hightower, crowned Viserys' rightful heir herself.

Queen Rhaenyra's coronation was grand, as what Viserys would've wanted for his beloved daughter. Daemon, his brother, proudly took the name, King Consort, while Rhaenyra named her firstborn son, Prince Aegon the Younger, her rightful heir. Lyonel Strong remained the Hand of the Queen, but his son, Harwin, was named Commander of the City Watch and was given a place at the Small Council's table. His children with Alicent were given titles to many lands, their oldest son heir to Harrenhal. Aegon the Elder was permitted the claim to Dragonstone, while Rhaenyra's other half-siblings were appointed as squires and cupbearers to her court, some were even betrothed to the Strong children.

Y/n, however, remained in King's Landing, despite being granted permission to go back to her family's home, Oldtown. With Rhaenyra's permission, she remained in the Red Keep where she had made a home among her children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. Y/n Hightower -once called the Good Queen- died in her bed many years later, after briefly meeting her first great-grandchild to her son, Aegon, and his wife and niece, Visenya.

There were no Blacks. There were no Greens. A hundred years will pass and everyone will know the story of how one woman stopped the Dance of Dragons from ever happening. Or better yet, no one will have ever even heard of it.

~~~

A/N: I know, I switched everything up and made everyone confused. This was a form of therapy for me after I wished that everyone in the show would just get along.

Part Two

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yandere-writer-momo · 6 months

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*Pulls up in a Lambo*Heyyy. Could I get an obsessed Baki with a readerm that's Yujiro's assistant or something. Anywhere Yujiro is they're there. No Yujiro and reader please *drops money*

IN A LAMBO? And you pay me? WOW. Okay.

Hopefully people know this isn’t canon

Yandere Baki Shorts: Delusion

Baki Hanma obsessed with Yujiro’s secretary

Oh He Delulu

Baki Hanma

His interest in (your name) began once he found out his father had an office. It wasn’t uncommon for him to drop by weekly to try to figure out his dad’s whereabouts. Whereabouts even his secretary didn’t know (not that Baki knew that)

Baki was recently single due to his motivation to defeat his father and how it interfered with his personal relationships. So Baki was doing his best to distract himself from the heartbreak. What else was a young adult in his early twenties supposed to do when his childhood sweetheart broken up with him?

And that’s how he met her. (Your name) was a bit older than him but she was very patient with him. She had a motherly charm to her that warmed his heart (not to mention her fuller figure). Baki swore he had hearts in his eye at first glance

(Your name) patiently waited for him to finish asking all of his questions before telling him that even she did not know of Yujiro’s whereabouts. But she would make sure to let her boss know when she saw him. She was so level headed… Baki admired that. Baki liked that she patiently listened to him

Baki continued his weekly visits over the course of two months. Baki found himself reveling in her care. “Did you eat today? We could order lunch if you plan to stay awhile.” Or “did you sleep enough? You look a little tired.” Baki adored her motherly care… did this mean she liked him too? The thought of her having a crush on him made his head nearly explode

His weekly visits began to change to him dropping by every few days, but rather than being there, for his father, he was there for (your name). Baki’s heart and mind were set on her

Baki would make awkward small talk with her to try and find things out about her. He was excited to learn that (your name) didn’t have a partner and that she lived alone. He couldn’t believe nobody was with her because he thought she was so soft and sweet. This only made him want (your name) more

Baki was unaware that (your name) only saw him as a little brother due to their small age gap of a few years

Soon he figured out her favorite color, her favorite food, her birthday, and every small detail about (your name). Like how sometimes she’d chew on her nails when she was nervous or when she’d bounce her leg when she was anxious. He knew all of (your name)’s cute quirks

Baki would spend more and more time at the office to the point (your name) swore she had a coworker. Baki was always at her side while she worked and he was insistent on spending time outside of work too. He constantly invited her to watch him train or to get food. Baki was relentless in his pursuit

At first she thought it was endearing but then she realized he didn’t see her as a big sister… no. Baki saw her as a woman

(Your name) would always politely turn him down but he didn’t give up. No… he only began to become bolder

Baki would bring her takeout of her favorite foods and sometimes he would bring (your name) her favorite flowers. She always accepted them (out of obligation)… so he assumed that she accepted his feelings. Which made his heart soar. (In his mind you two were dating)

The delusional younger man would come to her office first thing in the morning and he’d leave when (your name) would so he could walk her home. He constantly tried to hold your hand. It was starting to make her uncomfortable

……………………………………………………..

“You know you don’t have to walk me home, right?” (Your name) nervously tucked a stray hair behind her ear as Baki walked beside you. The young man hummed in thought.

“But it’s dangerous for a girl to walk alone this late. Plus men are strange on the subway trains. I worry about you.” Baki gave (your name) a reassuring smile. “Isn’t it normal to worry about people you care about?”

(Your name) sighed. No matter what she did, she couldn’t get rid of him, but he was stuck to her like a leech. Maybe she needed to be more blunt with her rejection?

“Say, Baki? I need to tell you something.” (Your name) nervously fiddled with her fingers, a quirk Baki instantly recognized. The younger man’s cheeks became rosy as his mind began to race a thousand miles a minute. It was happening… she was going to tell him she loved him.

“O-of course anything.” Baki bounced a bit on his feet in excitement. He’s been dying to tell her of his feelings but if she made the first move, then it was truly meant to be, wasn’t it?

“This is so hard for me to say but I-“ Baki suddenly pulled her in for a kiss, the young woman stood there flabbergasted. Her eyes blown wide open and her arms flailed out while Baki tenderly pressed his lips against hers in a gentle dance of lip and tongue. (Your name) hated to admit it, but he was a good kisser.

Baki pulled her body tightly against his, his eyes fluttered shut to enjoy this moment. Their first kiss together… it was more magical than he expected.

The two stayed like that for a moment before Baki slowly pulled away. His eyes half lidded and his cheeks flushed.

“I love you too.”

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springseasonie · 1 year

Text

To New Friends | JJH (M)

Corporate AU, Strangers to lovers (?), Younger Jaehyun x older fem reader

Summary: You really hate having to go to formal events. The people, environment, joverall experience is never pleasant. Having to constantly deal with being undermined as a woman and CEO is something no one should have to deal with, but here you are, forced to deal with it anyway. You were sure your night would be horrible, that is until you bumped into Jaehyun, who not only happened to be a new face, but just your type.

Warnings: sexual content, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, oral (male and fem receiving), snowballing, cum eating, spit, sexism/misogyny, harassment (if you would call it that, proof read but may contain errors my bad y'all)

Word count: 5,3 k

Song recs: perfume, kiss by NCT djj, on the way by Jhene Aiko

A/N: been a bit obsessed with Jaehyun and wanted to write about him. Got a bit carried away a bit too delusional so this is the product of that. This is pure filth I'm so sorry. Feedback is loved and appreciated

Charity events were never really your thing. The pleasantries, snobby sexist businessmen, and their annoying wives. You always hated them. All of them were just ways for rich narcissists to make it seem like they had compassion, but everyone knew it was just as fucked up as anything else. None of these people ever cared for the cause, just how much they were putting into it.

However, the hardest thing about these events is being a successful single woman. You take pride in not being taken although people your age tell you it's about time you settle down and start a family. You don't really like the idea of not working and giving up a career you worked hard for over some snotty nose kid and a man who probably would cheat on you anyway. It's an extremely pessimistic way of looking at marriage, but you couldn't help it, especially seeing how all of your friends' relationships are at the moment.

But sometimes, you did wish you had an interesting life, like right now. Right now you were stuck in a conversation with 2 CEOs and their wives going on and on about their children in private schools across the globe. You twirled your drink in your glass leaning on your elbow as you stood across from them.

"But Y/N..you aren't looking for anyone right now," Rosé asked. She was the wife of a powerful man who owned one of the biggest tech companies in the world. She was also the fakest person you've ever met. You didn't like her and thank God the feeling was mutual.

"No, I'm not. I prefer to focus on working right now," you answered. You sipped your drink without breaking eye contact with her. She knew exactly what she was doing, constantly trying to embarrass you.

"You said that last time honey. Don't you want to..rest for a while? Find someone to take care of you? I mean, you're beautiful, so it shouldn't be too hard," she replied.

"I like working. And I can take care of myself." The table got quiet, sensing the attitude you didn't mean to let slip out. "Anyway, I'm going to go greet other guests. Have a good night."

Just as you turned around, you practically walked into a wall of a man, spilling your drink on your off-white dress.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry," he said. It was a voice you didn't recognize. You looked up at him, surprised at the handsome sight your eyes were met with. He was blonde and tall. His voice was a bit deep for his appearance.

"It's.. it's okay," you said, trying not to show how irritated you were.

"I'll go get something for you to clean up with." He turned around and walked away quickly. You watched him as he begged the kitchen staff for napkins, ears red from the embarrassment. When he came back, he handed them to you with both hands.

'Polite,' you thought to yourself. "Thank you," you said, flashing him a quick smile. "I'm Y/N by the way. It's nice to meet you."

"I'm Jaehyun," he said, watching you wipe your dress. "Do you come to these things often?"

"These events? Well, I have to, considering my job. But If I'm gonna be honest, I don't really like them," you said, whispering at the end of your statement.

Jaehyun chuckled softly, looking down at you. "Tell me about it. I can't stand these things either."

"At least we have something in common. Well, it was nice to meet you Jaehyun," you said with a small smile. You walked away before letting him respond, almost as if you were running away from the conversation. He was handsome, a little too handsome, and really well-spoken too. And for the first time, someone finally spoke to you like a regular person. But of course, you didn't want to give him the impression that you were trying to flirt when he was just being nice. That's what you tell yourself all the time - that they're just trying to be nice - no matter how many times they ask you for your number or ask you on dates.

No one knew, but another reason you didn't want to get married is that you had no interest in having a trophy husband. Most men who try and get with you are often just looking for someone to sink their manipulative claws into. They thought that because you're beautiful and rich, you must've killed an old husband for it. But whenever you tell them about how you busted your ass since your teenage years to get where you are, they're no longer interested. You aren't well known amongst your run-of-the-mill businessmen, so they take you as a joke until they actually google you. You found it comical how many of them text you saying they were sorry and begging you to go out with them again. But after a while, dating and trying to talk to people really did become exhausting, so you just decided to not do it anymore. And it's been that way for 4 years now.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Lee! How are you guys?" You shook both of their hands with a smile, trying to hide how much you wanted the interaction to be over.

"We're good. You know we just had another kid," Taeyong announced.

"Oh really? Congratulations!"

"Thank you..and I see you're here alone again unless that," Irene said pointing to the wet stain on your dress," was made by someone I assume."

"Oh, this? I bumped into someone, that's all," you answered. You were sure they knew you were getting more and more annoyed with how Taeyong's eyes shifted between you and his wife.

"A shame. I was almost excited to see someone here with you but alas..the ice queen will never melt." Irene's eyes were always judgmental. You knew she thought she was better than you with all her expensive dresses and jewelry, constantly trying to flaunt her possessions and family in front of you and other people.

'What a bitch,' you thought to yourself. You flash her a small smile, twirling the drink from your glass. "I do hope you guys have a good night, and I hope you figure out your son's scandal. Buying test scores isn't something I'd want to be accused of."

You walked off seeing Irene's ticked-off expression. 'Serves that bitch right.' Taking a sip of your champagne, you spotted Jaehyun talking to a group of men, some of whom have tried to get with you in the past. You shouldn't have stared but you couldn't help it. He was the first man you actually found yourself attracted to out of all the single men in these events. You watched and sipped your drink, staring at him as he laughed and smiled. 'He has dimples?' you caught yourself thinking. "I need a stronger drink." Just as you were about to walk away, the one person you didn't want to see spotted you.

Jaehyun motioned for you to come to him from across the room. Being the nice person you are, you walked up to him and the other men. "Hey," you said, glancing at the group of them awkwardly.

"I know we just met but I wanted to introduce you to some of my friends," he said.

"We've.. already met before," you laugh awkwardly.

"Yeah. She's not very nice," Mingyu commented. His eyes went from your face to your cleavage which was showing a bit in the low-cut dress. "But who needs to be nice when you're dressed like that?"

Mingyu and the other men snickered at your fading smile, nudging each other to look at your expression. Jaehyun took notice, clearing his throat and gaining their attention. "Guys, chill out."

"Or what, she can't take a little joke?" Mingyu scoffed and sipped his drink, staring at you, daring you to say something. Little did he know you weren't scared of anyone, and you certainly wouldn't be embarrassed by anyone either.

"You know what? Yeah, it was a bit funny," you said nodding. "You wanna know what else is funny?"

Mingyu raised his brow, clicking his tongue. "I'm listening."

"I think it's funny how you had to close 5 of your 15 stores already because of how poorly they're doing." You covered your face letting out a fake laugh. All the men looked at you, none of them amused anymore, especially Mingyu. "What's with the serious faces? I thought we were telling jokes."

"You're miserable really," he said, turning away from you, and walking away. "No wonder no one wants you. You're gonna end up dying alone."

"As long as it's not with you." You let out a big sigh as he and his other friends got farther away from you. You've always had a sharp tongue and quick remarks never letting anyone catch you off guard. It was something you had to learn for survival in the corporate world, especially as a woman.

"I'm really sorry about him," Jaehyun said, tongue poking his cheek in annoyance.

You turned to him, surprised to see he was still there. "Oh no, don't apologize. You seem so nice. Why are you friends with people like that anyway?"

"I'm a bit new to stuff like this," he admitted. "I've never been in an environment with such successful people, so I just became friends with anybody."

You chuckled softly at his words, finding his naiveness endearing. "If you want advice from someone who's been here for a while, I'd say don't become friends with just anyone."

"And what if I wanna be your friend?"

You look at him immediately being faced with his dimples. 'Gosh, he's cute.' "Then I'd be grateful," you said.

He raised his glass, fixing his suit jacket with his other hand, proposing a toast. "To making new friends?"

You clung your glass with him with a smile nodding. "To making new friends."

It's been 2 hours since the event started and usually at this point you would've gone home, but this was unfortunately the most important event of the year, so you had to stay. If you didn't, you would probably get a very angry email from the board of your company again, and you didn't feel like dealing with any of that.

In situations like this, you usually went outside, but the location of this event was a million-dollar penthouse. Thankfully, there was a balcony with a pool that too many people were afraid they would fall into. You were leaning on the ledge of the glass fence staring out into the view of the city. Even at night, it looked like daytime. No one stopped for anything or anyone, always fast-paced no matter what. If you knew that's what your life would look like years ago, you probably would've just pursued something lowkey. But you worked hard and weren't going to stop now.

"You been out here for a long time?"

You turned around to see Jaehyun walking up to you. He held his suit jacket in his arm, his other hand stuffed in his pocket. He was buff, buttons straining against his chest. You gulped, not being able to control your obvious staring. 'How was he hiding all that under his suit,' you thought to yourself.

"No, just for a couple of minutes. It gets kind of suffocating sometimes," you admitted.

Jaehyun came up next to you, leaning on the fence as he stared into the city lights. He had such a well-defined face, a jawline sharper than diamonds. He's probably the most handsome man you've ever seen. If you had more to drink, you'd probably fall right into his lap by now.

"I feel you. What..do you do by the way," he asked, looking away from the view and at you.

"I own Jasmine Marketing Company," you answered. Your company is one of the most famous marketing companies in the country, and you basically did it all by yourself. Being a woman in her mid-30s with an establishment as big as this one is rare, but you happened to do it. You don't like to announce who you are because people treat you differently, but you don't mind doing it if you have to put someone in their place.

Jaehyun's eyes went wide, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Woah..didn't expect that."

"Why? Did you think I was gonna say something like 'Oh I'm blah blah's wife' or that I own some fashion brand," you joked.

"Oh, no. I didn't mean it like that." He panicked, letting out a big sigh before looking down at his feet. Jaehyun's head shot up when he heard you laugh, voice lighting up the quiet balcony.

"I was just kidding. I know you didn't mean it that way, it's okay," you said, comforting him.

Jaehyun smiled, letting out a laugh in disbelief. "Goodness, you are really something," he commented, a bit more relaxed.

You turned your body to him, arm leaning on the railing for support. Jaehyun might've been nice and well-mannered, but on the surface, he was just a man. It was taking everything in him to not look at your chest. Being the smart woman you are, you notice it. "It's okay. I won't get mad at you," you said quietly.

"W-what are you talking about?" Jaehyun gulped, biting his lip nervously.

"I mean.." you took a step closer to him, so close he could smell your floral scent perfume. "You can look. I won't get mad."

It wasn't like you to be this bold, but after a couple of glasses of champagne and constantly being talked to by people you didn't like, the least you could do was treat yourself to the nervous new guy.

Jaehyun chuckled softly, trying to cover up how flustered he was. "I'm not gonna fall for that." Jaehyun would like to think of himself as a smart man. He knows what he should do and what he shouldn't despite being given permission to do so. He's dealt with many women but none like you. You're confident and quick, but never let your guard down. And that's how you wanted to keep it.

You smirked, turning back to lean on the railing. "I like you Jaehyun," you commented. "Most men would look, and then proceed to think that means they could touch me. It's annoying."

"Well, I'm not like most men."

You smiled, moving your hair from your face. "You know, it's kind of rare to see a fresh face among all these old people," you admitted. "For the first time in a while, I can say I had a little fun tonight."

Maybe, just maybe, there was something here right now, between the 2 of you. It's so cliche. He bumps into you making you spill your drink over your dress, defends you from his annoying friends, and is now talking to you instead of making connections at a charity event. He's handsome with pretty blonde hair and nice dimples, and a body to go with it too. This night was almost too perfect for you. You hadn't felt a spark with anyone for a very long time, not wanting to get with just anyone.

"Why? Because of me," he asked, joking. Jaehyun's smile dropped a bit when you nodded.

"What do you do, if you don't mind me asking," you asked.

"I'm the CEO of Jeong Enterprises," he answered.

"Really," you asked, a bit shocked. "But you're so.."

"Young? Yeah I know. Took over for my father a couple of years back," he answered with a sigh.

You know Mr. Jeong, but you never met his son. He's a nice man with very strong values, always talking about how much he loves his family, and how much he wants them to succeed. Years ago, he got sick and hasn't been able to manage the company head-on. Mr. Jeong said he was going to appoint a new CEO, but you never would've guessed it was his son.

"It's not as easy as people make it look. I mean having to pick up from where he started was hard, but I would say I've done a pretty good job," he admitted, a small smile on his face.

"You have."

Jaehyun looked at you, mouth a bit open trying to form a response but failing. You couldn't help but glance at his lips, then his neck, and trail your eyes down his body. You were sure he noticed, but he could pick up a hint right? But maybe he couldn't, so maybe you should apply some more pressure.

"For someone who doesn't come to these things often, you look great," you complimented.

"Oh, thank you. You look..great too," he said, nodding his head as he looked away from you.

"Great? That's all I get?"

"Well you look beautiful," he said, trying to change his words.

"So you think I'm beautiful," you teased. You gave him a small laugh seeing how flustered he was. "Well, I think you're very handsome."

Jaehyun watched you intently as you took a step towards him, looking at him with doe eyes. He gulped, not really knowing what to do. He had a feeling you were going to try and do something reckless, and by the time he could say no, he would already have done it.

"You're too kind," he said, shaking his hair from his face.

"Goodness, you're cute. I wanted to keep the flirting to a minimum but I can't help it. You're really something," you said. All that was happening at the moment was a bad case of word vomit, but you really couldn't stop yourself. It'd been a long time since you were this attracted to a person, so you had to let it be known.

Jaehyun gave you a small chuckle looking at you as he licked his lips, brushing his hair back. Jaehyun really didn't know if he should give in to your advances knowing you were probably saying all of this because of how many drinks you had, but after all, he is just a man. "Well, people don't usually find me cute after first meeting me, so you're a first."

"What do they usually say?"

"They say I look like I'm great in bed." Jaehyun eyed you, gaze shifting from pleasant to lustful in less than a second. Your lips curled into a smile as you cocked your head to the side.

"Well..are you?"

"There's only one way to find out." To anyone who might've been looking at the both of you from afar, it looked like you were having a normal conversation. But the tension between you and him was so thick, it would probably startle some people you know. Your presence was so dominating to him, but you liked how he wasn't intimidated by you.

"I didn't think you had it in you. You were so shy and careful a couple of minutes ago. What happened to that," you teased.

"Trust me, I have a lot of things in me you don't know about." His voice was low, sending a shiver down your spine, right to your core. Goodness, he was hot. You're surprised he never got into a love scandal with the way he's talking to you.

"Would it be unprofessional of me to say I would like to find out?" By this point, you were definitely too far gone to back off now. It was a bit unlike you - the woman who kept all her ducks in one row - to fuck someone the night she met them, but Jaehyun was too good to be true. It's rare to come across someone who's exactly your type, so you can't let this go to waste.

"I'd like you to find out," he answered.

You stepped closer, chest in his as you leaned into his ear. "Meet me upstairs in 15 minutes," you whispered and walked away. Jaehyun watched you, the click of your heels getting further and further as you walked back inside.

Jaehyun attached his hands to your waist, holding you firmly as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "I hope you don't mind the lipstick," you muttered.

Your lips smashed onto his as you pressed him against the wall, holding his face in your hands. Jaehyun tugged off his suit jacket, throwing it somewhere on the floor beside you. The light was low in the room, the only source of light coming from the moonlight shining through the gigantic window of the empty room. Your lipstick was probably all over his face by now, so there was no way either one of you was coming out of this room unscathed.

He pulled away from you, planting kisses on your neck. He lowered his hands in response, cupping your ass firmly as you moaned softly. You removed your arms from his neck and loosen his tie wanting to see more of him. He inhaled the scent of your perfume, taking in everything about you all at once.

"I want you in my mouth. How does that sound," you asked, eyes closed in pleasure.

"Sounds like heaven." Jaehyun lifted his head, letting go of you as you sunk onto your knees. His eyes never left your hands as you unbuckled his belt, hands moving fast and clumsily. Jaehyun couldn't help but smile. He's been with a lot of women, but no one older. He always felt like older women weren't his type, but here he was about to get blown off by one.

You unzipped his slacks, tugging his neatly tucked shirt out of the fabric. You tugged his clothes down quickly, unable to hide your excitement when you saw his hardened length.

"Fuck," you mumbled. You grabbed his length, stroking it slowly, and bit your lip. Looking up at him, you swore his eyes rolled back from the simple touch. Jaehyun's eyes never left yours as you started to stroke him faster.

You kissed the tip of his length, tongue softly digging into the slit. Jaehyun let out a low grunt, brows furrowing at the sudden feeling. You removed your hand slowly as you sunk his length into your mouth. You bobbed your head, staring into his pretty brown eyes. Your hand gripping the hem of your dress nails sinking into your palms through the thin fabric.

Jaehyun's hand reached the back of your head, following your rhythm. Your cheeks hollowed as you sucked him harder, moaning softly.

"You're so pretty on your knees," he muttered. His eyes were glossed with pleasure, unable to care about the many voices and footsteps that come a little too close to the door. "I bet it'd turn you on even more if someone happens to walk in here."

You whined softly in response. You bobbed your head faster brows furrowing at how full your mouth was. Pleasuring him was turning you on even more, so when you opened your legs and crept your hands under your dress, Jaehyun was in absolute awe. You weren't wearing anything underneath and he could tell how easy it was for you to start fingering yourself. You pumped your fingers in and out of you matching the pace of your bobbing head.

Jaehyun moaned softly, mouth falling slightly as you moved your head faster. His eyes shifted from your face to your hands stuffed between your legs not knowing where to look. You pulled your mouth off of him slowly, droll falling down your chin, the only thing connecting you to him being a string of spit.

"Cum on my chest," you said, voice a bit raspy.

Jaehyun grabbed himself, stroking his length quickly. His soft moans turned into gentle whines. The scene was right out of a movie, him standing over you moaning as you touched yourself on your knees in front of him - so many people would pay to see it. Jaehyun's brows furrowed, throwing his head back feeling closer and closer to his orgasm. "Fuck, oh my god."

And with that, he came all over your chest, the hot sticky liquid staining your skin. Your lips curled into a smile as you bit your lip, still pumping your fingers in and out of your core. You pulled them out of you slowly and came to your knees. You never looked away as you stuck your fingers in his mouth, watching him as he sucked your arousal off your fingers.

"That's so fucking hot," you said, a smirk on your face. "And you even managed to keep my dress clean."

He took your fingers out of his mouth, letting out a soft chuckle. "I don't know if it'll still be clean when I'm finished with you."

"So finish me."

Jaehyun couldn't control himself when he pushed you into the wall and pulled up your tight dress. His lips attached themselves to your neck, leaving wet sloppy kisses all over your skin. "Fuck, you smell so good," he groaned. Jaehyun was in way too deep with you now, his tongue gliding from your neck to your chest.

If you had underwear on, they would probably be soaked by now. You watched him as he licked up his own cum, immediately kissing you right after. You couldn't get enough of the taste of his arousal as you kissed him moaning softly into his mouth.

"Don't wear a condom," you mumbled on his lips.

"Wasn't planning to." Jaehyun lifted your body, pinning you on the wall. You wrapped your arms around him, legs being held by him. You let out a breathy moan feeling yourself sinking into his length.

"Jesus Christ," you moaned quietly. Jaehyun held you with a strong grip on your thighs, so strong you were sure they would leave prints. He rocked his hips into you slowly, every moment bringing out a small groan from him.

"God, you're so big," you whispered, a smile spreading across your face in pleasure.

Jaehyun chuckled softly, kissing your neck. You looked so pretty to him, face lit up by the moonlight moaning his name. Your smile lights up your whole face, too perfect to look away from. He wanted to wipe that smile off your face. He wanted to fuck you so good, you wouldn't even be able to talk.

Your hand tangled in his hair as he fucked you slow against the wall, a small gasp escaping your lips with every thrust. Your lipstick is all over every part it shouldn't be, but that's what made this even better. The thrill of doing something you weren't. As much of a rule follower you were, you've always enjoyed breaking the rules sometimes, even if it was as risky as this. And fortunately for you, this was one rule Jaehyun broke with you.

Jaehyun thrust into you faster, making your body bounce at the same pace. The smile faded, and your jaw dropped at the pleasure that shot through your body. "That's it," he cooed. "It feels good doesn't it?"

"Y-yeah," you moaned out quietly.

"You take me so well baby." The praise made you go crazy, making you nod your head fast. You could barely form a coherent sentence at this point, not when he was fucking you this good. With every movement, your sensitive bud brushed against his skin making your head spin. You leaned in, kissing him deeply, tongues tangling with each other. You clenched around him, making him moan against your lips. "Fuck.."

"I'm so close," you whined against his lips. All that could be heard in the room was the sound of skin slapping and the sound of your soft moans.

"Can you wait for me?"

You shook your head, unable to form a coherent sentence. You looked down at where the both of you were connected, mind unable to focus on anything else. "Jaehyun..fuck I'm so close.."

"You're doing so good," he breathed out. "Just a bit more."

"F-fuck I can't.." You whined loudly feeling your entire body tense up under his touch. You clenched around him as you came, making him moan softly into your neck.

Jaehyun kept fucking into you, feeling himself coming closer and closer to his orgasm. He gripped your hips legs harder as he fucked into you at an unsteady pace. Soon enough, he threw his head back, brows furrowed, biting his lip to keep the loud groan from reaching the ears of the people outside the door as he came inside you. Feeling weak, Jaehyun put you back onto your feet carefully, the sound of breathing and your heels clicking on the floor filling the room. But before you could even register what just happened, Jaehyun disappeared right in front of you, dropping to his knees.

"W-what are you doing," you whispered softly.

"I'm not done." Jaehyun's voice was tired and raspy, sweat dripping down his forehead. He grabbed your leg, throwing it over his shoulder. Jaehyun wasted no time attaching his mouth to your core looking up at you with lust filled eyes. He lapped licked and sucked your clit hard, lapping up the mixture of both of your arousal.

You could barely stand how badly he was abusing your sensitive bud. You leaned against the wall trying to keep your balance as Jaehyun gripped your hips. "Oh my god," you whimpered, breathy moans sounding like music to his ears. Everything was overstimulating you, the feeling of his tongue, the eye contact - the sounds he was making - it was driving you crazy.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum." Your breathing was so loud, you were basically heaving trying to keep yourself from moaning too loud.

"Cum, and keep those pretty eyes on me." Jaehyun moaned as he licked you up, his half opened eyes never leaving you. Your jaw dropped, a gasp that was a little too loud leaving your mouth reaching the ears of someone outside as soon as you came.

"What was that," you heard someone ask.

You clasped your hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle whatever noises were coming out as he lapped up your arousal. Jaehyun removed your leg from his shoulder, holding you so your weak body wouldn’t fall. You gulped as he removed your hand from your mouth, not knowing what he was about to do next.

"Open up." Jaehyun grabbed your jaw and brushed his finger against your lip. A smirk was plastered on his face as he let a ball of cum and saliva fall from his tongue and onto yours, his smirk becoming wider when you let out a soft whine. "Swallow."

Eyes never leaving your, he watched you so what he said, kissing you right after. He held your face in his hands while kissing you passionately.

"That was..fucking amazing," you mumbled on his lips.

"You were amazing." He moved his hands from your face, moving them directly to your ass. "That was the most fun I've had in ages."

"That was the most fun I've had in my life," you replied, chuckling softly. "I thought you were bluffing when you said you were good."

"Yeah, I might've gotten a bit carried away." Jaehyun's eyes scanned over your body taking in the mess he made of you at the very formal event. "I'm sorry for that," he said, glancing at your cleavage.

"I'm sorry about the lipstick everywhere," you said laughing softly at the red smeared all over his face. "I don't know how we're gonna make it out of here."

"I could always give you my jacket and we can make a run for it," he joked.

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck with a smile. "I think I'd like to stay here for a little bit longer. I hate these events."

Jaehyun kissed you softly, nipping at your lip. "Round 2? I don't think you can keep up with me."

"I'm better at showing you than telling you."

"So show me."

#nct #nct 127 #nct u #nct fanfic #nct smut #nct x reader #nct oneshot #nct imagines #nct jaehyun #jaehyun #jaehyun fanfic #jaehyun scenarios #nct scenarios #jaehyun smut #jaehyun x reader

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anundyingfidelity · 9 months

Text

THE SCENE — Will Poulter x fem reader

Summary: you're in a romantic comedy with Will Poulter and kind of develop a small crush on him. After a hot make out scene, you can't stop thinking about him.

Pairing: Will Poulter x fem!reader.

Word count: 2.8k.

Warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, handjobs, couch sex, semi clothed sex, overstimulation, usual dirty language and dirty stuff.

Notes: Reader is around 38 (in my head) and Will is 30 because I fucking need some Will with an older woman and I need him in a romantic comedy so bad right now and this is me trying to fulfil my fantasy as well. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this filthy shit. Anything is welcome.

>> disclaimer: i totally respect the private lifes of the actors and celebrities i use for my fanfictions, and of course their personal relationships. this is only fiction written for fun and nothing more.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

Finally, he kissed you. But it wasn't just a simple kiss. It was a hungry, needy kiss. Something you longed for since you both met on set.

He pressed his body against yours, his big frame over you, his fingers caressing your cheek until he reached the skin of your neck. His touch made you ache, and he wasn't even down there, where you needed him the most.

As you gasped between kisses, his hands traveled down your hips, until he grabbed your ass, in a harshly way. His big palms squeezing your skin through the pencil skirt. Will broke the kiss, scanning your swollen lips and big eyes, before he pulled you up from the floor only to sit you on the kitchen island, and him now standing between your legs.

It was your turn to kiss him. You pulled him for a sloppy kiss as your lips crashed together again, inviting his tongue to taste your mouth. He started to take off the buttons of your blouse, leaving it open to see your covered breasts, and hungrily you invite his hands to feel your exposed skin. He touched, under your guidance, and felt the heat of your body against him.

Your hands then moved to his trousers, undoing them as fast as you can between kisses. Will pulled you closer, if that was even possible, pressing your bodies together. You grinded against him, and felt his increasing arousal. His growing erection wasn't something he could hide; and this made you crazy, for him and his touch.

His hips moved, thrusting into you, feeling your heat against his clothed crotch, and his lips moved to your neck, placing soft kisses on your skin. It made you gasp and whimper softly, and you thought you'd come just by the friction your bodies were creating...

"Cut!"

The director's voice made you stop.

You almost forgot you were actually acting a heavy make out scene with Will Poulter.

"Are you okay?" you asked sweetly once you stopped, trying to keep it professional.

Will nodded and breathed out. "Yeah, are you alright?"

"I am," you smiled.

He helped you to get on your feet and the staff quickly came to fix yours and his clothing, while listening to the praising from your director and the crew on what you just did. The blonde, tall man blushed a little.

The film was a new romantic comedy, with you and Will on the lead. You played a prestigious boss of an important magazine and Will was the new, naive intern on the company. Will's character was younger than the your character and he fell for your character in an instant. So this scene was the peak of their relationship, where both finally give in to each other.

Unlike you, you fell for Will in real life.

Will's character was clumsy, cute, really kind and hardworking, exactly like him. He was shy when you met at first but as time went by you learned to enjoy each other's company and, in fact, you got along very well.

You sighed, finally this was your last scene for the day, so the crew and the director wrapped up everything, and you finished another long shift of filming. After the scene, you left the set saying thank you to everyone and smiling a lot more than you pretended to Will. God, you were so into him.

The crew took you to hair and make up to take off the clothes for the scene and clean your face. It was late at night, so after that, you went back to your hotel. The only thing on your mind was him. Him touching you, him kissing you, him adoring and worshiping your body in just a few minutes was driving you crazy.

Maybe it was just a mere coincidence, but once you waited for the elevator to arrive, Will appeared by your side. A shy smile on his lips. Your cheeks heated and your body ached, the images of his hands roaming your figure appeared on your head again.

"Almost over," Will said. "The filming, I mean..."

"Yeah, thankfully," you responded almost immediately.

The elevator doors opened. Will let you get in first and he followed behind. You were the only two people inside the elevator and in silence you arrived to your floor. It wasn't good that you were staying on the same floor, only a room apart. At least, not for you.

You started to walk away, with a smile, and suddenly felt like you had to do something. Anything to talk to him, to have him closer.

"Actually, I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink or something?" the question came out of your mouth without thinking twice, and it certainly caught Will out of guard, judging by the look on his face.

He was standing a couple feet away from you, ready to enter his room, but he stopped from doing so.

"That would be lovely," he said.

"Then, wanna come in?" you asked, playfuly, knowing he would follow.

Will chuckled and you let him in your room. It was a small suite, with a living room and a bedroom. The moment Will entered the place, he thought it had all your aura in it, a proper hotel room for a star like you. Someone whom he really admired a lot from afar, and you had no idea about it.

"Anything special you'd like?" you asked Will, after saying he could sit on the couch. You opened the fridge and his answer was a little weird for you.

"Water will do, thank you."

You glanced at him, your brows furrowed.

"Really, water's fine," his lips put on a pretty, shy look on his face. But you said nothing, grabbing a glass of water and if this was going to go his way, you took water for yourself too.

You offered him the glass and he gladly accepted it as you took yours and made yourself comfortable in the couch, leaving just a little space between both of you.

"I can't believe we're only a couple of days to finish here," Will broke the silence first. God, how much you loved hearing his voice.

"Me neither, hasn't been that long..." you replied. I wish it never ended, at least not yet, you thought.

Suddenly, Will called your name and it slipped from his mouth like the sweetest thing you've ever heard him say. He started to think perfectly his words. "Um I really enjoy working with you," he said. "And you're awesome, and I'm your fan- sorry if it's weird."

A wide smile was on your lips and you felt heat rising on your face. "I enjoy the time with you as well."

The chat went smoothly, with him praising your work and you did the same with Will. He respected you a lot since you were older than him and you had a prominent career he followed closely before. It was nice to have him in your place, alone, without the pressure of doing a perfect scene or your crew around. Even when the british man was just being sweet and making some jokes through your conversation, all you could think about was the heated scene you shared today. On the way his hands traveled down your skin, how his lips felt soft, and the way he was pressing your body to his... A new wave of silence filled the place as you finished your glass of water and placed it on the coffee table, his empty glass was already there.

"You know, I couldn't stop thinking about our scene today..."

"Oh, yeah? Why's that?" you asked, curious. You could swear you were closer to him now, your legs almost touching. A small blush appeared on his face at the way your eyes looked at him.

"Well, you're you," he mumbled. "And you're wonderful and beautiful..."

"Well, you're beautiful too, and I like you," you didn't mean to say those last words but it was done now. His eyes went wide. Well, now he knew. Will barely gasped and licked his lips. And you just wanted nothing more but kiss him. Now.

He remained quiet, so you decided to make your first move and slowly, you leaned in to kiss his lips. It was short but he closed his eyes and enjoyed the warm feeling. It started soft and delicate, until his hand tangled in your hair, playing with it gently. You whimpered in the middle of the kiss.

"God, you're so gorgeous," you breathed against his lips, taking in every inch and detail of his face. His plump lips and his darkening eyes filled with lust and his furrowed brows were everything you wanted to keep on your mind forever.

You moved until you finally were sitting on his lap, each leg on his sides, and kissed him, this time, you were impatient. Gladly, Will followed your pace, letting you guide him through it while your hips moved slowly, grinding against his crotch.

Will gasped against your mouth, his big hands went down on your sides smoothly. His erection was evident and he found himself not able to control the rolls of his hips, your core already aching and dripping for him. Your small moans were swallowed by his mouth and you continued with the friction your now heated bodies created.

Suddenly, you broke the kiss to get some air and studied the look on his face. It was pure lust. Just exactly how you felt.

"Why you accepted my invitation if you wanted just water?"

"I wanted to be with you," he answered, biting his lip.

"Well, then undress me."

And he did as you ordered. You got on your feet and Will took off your blouse and your pants swiftly but gently at the same time, your bra ended up somewhere on the carpeted floor along with your panties. Finally exposed, you climbed on top of him again with such confidence, that his blue eyes wandered in every inch of your skin. He thought you were perfect like this.

Taking his hand you guided him to your core. And how wet you were by now. He rubbed your folds and your clit, as he left soft butterfly kisses on your neck, inhaling your scent. Your skin was heating and your heart racing. And his touch felt like heaven. His fingers teased your slit and you rocked your hips to feel him where you needed the most.

You didn't care he was still fully clothed, all that mattered was his digits playing with your cunt and his other hand running from your leg to one of your breasts to squeeze your flesh gently. Quickly, you found his belt and undid his trousers. Will breathed against the crook of your neck as your hand ghosted over his now tight boxers, throbing for you. You moaned as one of his long digits entered you, your spine curled. The feeling of getting stretched and ready was too much, and his agonizing slow rhythm made your body ask for more.

The heat between your legs ached and you met the thrusts of his hand rolling your hips, your hand palming him hardly through the fabric while he increased the pace of his finger, adding a second one soon enough. Will used his other hand to hold your waist, fucking your pussy with his fingers, clearly saying he wanted to guide the flow of what you were starting.

"Oh, Will, please," you whimpered, and leaned down to kiss him, eager. Your hands released his cock from his boxers and your palm worked on his hard dick, using the precum of his tip to create friction. Once you pulled away from the kiss you met with his flushed face, scrunched eyes, licking his lips with his tongue... he looked so pretty like that, under your touch and the small control you gathered before was back.

So you continued pumping him, the living room of your suite now was filled with the obscene noises of your pussy as his fingers thrusted into you and your hand pumping him. His eyes opened slowly and met your dark gaze, Will did not stop fucking your cunt, until you grabbed his wrist with your hand, his hard cock now free from your palm. He pulled out his fingers, glistening because of your juices and you took them in your mouth, tasting yourself. His muscles tighten, he felt like he would cum right there just by the licks of your tongue on his fingers, until you cleaned them good.

"I felt you getting hard today..."

You started to take off the buttons of his dress shirt, exposing a little of his well-built chest, hands ghosting over his soft skin.

"I- I couldn't help it," Will gasped, his big hands grabbing your sides.

You smirked. "I know."

And with those words, you sinked down on his cock, your walls pulsed around him as he filled you little by little, until the curve of your ass met the fabric of his trousers under your bare flesh. He let out a low moan and your pussy clenched around him. You were more than ready to take him.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, hypnotized on how good you felt.

So you ride him, holding yourself on his shoulders, with his hands gripping your hips, and you feel his dick deeply every time you sink down again into him, your tits bouncing, and both your moans and his groans mix together. And you realized then that you're finally connected, just as how you fantasized, exactly how you used to dream wide awake.

You realize you're riding him, fully naked, on the couch of your suite, while he was almost dressed. And you loved it. You loved the way he let you fuck yourself on him, and how his big and strong hands remained on your skin, how his fingers moved to cup your breasts. He felt like heaven.

A familiar sensation starts building down your belly, and your walls squeeze his cock as you bounce repeatedly. So close. So fucking close to the sweet end. Your body was desperate to reach the edge and release the tension you had saved for so long, just to have this moment with him. His grip grew rough on your hips, but Will remained still, and you knew it was taking a huge amount of self-control to buck his hips and thrust into you.

And finally, you exploded cursing under your breath, leaning your forehead against his. Moans and whimpers escaped your lips, your pussy clenching around his shaft, but you took a while to slow down and you held tightly on him. The wetness of your cunt sliding down your inner thighs.

"Fuck me," you gasped, still riding out your orgasm. "Fuck me like this until you cum."

And without a word, he did. His hard grip made you remain still, his hips rocking at a brutal pace, you were still sensitive from your orgasm, but it truly didn't care. He was already twitching inside of you and your whole body trembled. Your fingers tangled on his blonde, soft curls, while biting your lip to hold back your moans.

Will was so close to his own peak, his thrusts became erractic and breathy moans left his lips. You were also sure his grip would leave marks on your body, but that was more than okay. It would be perfect to remember how good he was making you feel and how hard he made you cum... Everything was more than perfect and every thrust made you crazy, aching for more of him and how deep he felt inside of your spasming walls...

With a last powerful thrust, he emptied himself inside you, spilling his seed deep inside of your cunt with a shattered breath against the crook of your neck. You just wished to stay like this forever, with him moving you on top of him gently, milking every drop of him.

Your body felt weak, but you smiled, panting and moving to see his beautiful sweaty face. He was completely spent, as much as you were. His hands caressed your thighs in a gentle way, and you pecked his nose, tasting the salty sweat running down his skin.

"This was so good," you mumbled.

"You feel good," Will answered, now he kissed your lips. "You feel better than I ever thought..."

You chuckled. "So you also imagined something before."

"A lot, in fact," he nodded, smiling and kissing your cheek, lips tracing the features on your face.

"Mind sharing some of them later? Maybe in the shower?" you suggested.

"Darling, you don't even have to ask."

The sweetness of his deep voice and the dark meaning of his words sent shivers down your spine. This was going to be a long night.

#will poulter x reader #will poulter smut #will poulter x female reader #will poulter x you #will poulter imagines #adam warlock x reader #will poulter imagine #the bear #will poulter fanfiction #luca the bear

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surferblues · 2 years

Text

cherry red blow ! ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

dilfelvis! austin butler x fem! reader

notes if you have a problem with 5-10 year age gaps , do not read 😵‍💫 because when i say i like dilfs... i mean DILFS

warnings smut (18+ only, minors dni), unprotected sex, intoxication, dom! elvis, praise, p in v, unestablished relationship, implied age gap, spelling errors, and obviously sexual themes.

Elvis knew who you were. Hell, all he could think about was you. He wasn't the one to get caught up with one girl, he was the type of guy who would sleep with any woman who offered .

And he was Elvis Presley, he could sleep with any woman if he could - all, but you.

He knew best to not fall under the impression you wanted him, that you were doing all that dressing up for him. You were a nanny hired by Priscilla, you made it clear the first day you were hired that you had no ill intentions of ruining the Presley name.

The way you walked around his home with those satin little dresses that covered only so much. The way you covered your lips in that damn cherry red lipstick. He couldn't help to think you knew what you were doing.

You u loved your job. truly, there was good pay, you got on so well with the presley family, the house was big and luxurious. people would kill to be in the position you were in.

You did what you usually did in preparation of coming in for your job. You made sure every hair was in place, you made sure that your clothes came from the finest sellers, and your lips always were layered in that cherry red lipstick.

You had been hired by Priscilla, her hopes of hiring a nanny to watch Lisa from time to time so Elvis and herself could rekindle the faded spark in their relationship.

You had some knowledge of their difficulties of their relationships, as you got front row view to the arguments they shared every night Elvis came home drunk with a groupie under his arm.

The pills, Elvis never being home, and the women were just helping points on why Priscilla found it so difficult to be in a relationship with Elvis. So it was safe to say you weren't surprised when Priscilla packed up her things and left Elvis, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

A part of you was relieved when you found out Elvis was a single man, another part of you was worried about it. Elvis always made it clear he went for younger girls, and with the ten year age gap between the two of you - you knew he had to think of you in such a dirty way.

it started off as a little crush, but you never pursued in actually doing anything with the older man in fear of risking your job. he was smart, and you assumed he wouldn’t ever go for the nanny of his daughter .

that was until you’d catch him eyeing your cherry glazed lips, the subtle touches near your hips when he would pass by you, and clever flirty comments began to slip out of his mouth.

something in your dynamic just... shifted.

it was one night when he arrived home from a long night of partying, and Lisa Marie was sound asleep in bed — he’d find you with a halfway full bottle of wine in your grasp.

your cheeks flushed, your words sloppily said.

"you've been out all night mr. presley."You giggled with a rasp, your eyes look over towards the door where the man stood, the slam of the front door indicating he just got to Graceland.

you took in his appearance as he came into eye view. the dark messy hair that was messy just in the perfect way, the way his tan chest peeked from the behind the white button up that was unbuttoned slightly, bloodshot eyes indicating that he may have partied a bit too hard.

just as you took him in, he took in the sight of you. your red lipstick smeared from your lips ever so slightly, your hair tousled, and the straps of your little dress falling off your shoulders as your back rested the marble table that stood in the middle of the fancy kitchen.

he began walking towards the small island where you stood, your eyes following every move he made.

"wasn't today your day off, darlin'?" he questioned curiously with that thick country twang, letting out a breathless shot of laughter before looking towards the direction where you were. "priscilla asked to me watch Lisa, she had some plans." you admitted.

he walked towards the the wooden cabinet where he kept his liquor, grabbing a empty small glass and a much larger glass full of burning liquor.

some part of you was telling you two remove yourself from the room, get as far away from Elvis as you could - but another part of you was screaming at you to stay, screaming at you to pursue your dangerous urges.

"If you prefer me to go, I can, Mr. Presley." You offered, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you watched Elvis's face for any sign of discomfort.

he stood on the other side of the kitchen island, his body standing right across from you.

you saw the way his jaw clenched at the way you said his name, but that happened everytime the simple saying slipped out of your mouth, "oh, mr. presley."

"no, no, the more the merrier." Elvis's slurred out, pouring a shot of whiskey in his glass, hesitation laced in his voice but he quickly covered it with a shaky scoff.

"you know, it's good to call me just elvis." he met your eyes, cooing out his words. the playful expression that was on his face moments ago replaced with a more hesitant one.

"good for you or good for me?" you murmured out, your lips quirking up so riskily and daringly.

you were writing out a check you couldn't cash.

"it would save us from a whole 'lotta trouble." he raised his brows and tilted his head with a careless shrug, bringing the glass of liquor to his lips. his Adam's apple bobbing as the stinging liquid entered his body.

"trouble? i thought you liked trouble, mr. presley." you cocked your head, your words rolling off of your tounge so surely. you began readjusting your hips, the end of your satin dress riding up with every move you made.

he couldn't read the expression sprawled on your face, but you sure as hell could read his. his knitted brows, his eyes looking at you so intensely... reading you for any source of confirmation that the sinful thoughts in his head weren't only racing through his.

"i like a lot of things, sweetheart." elvis chuckled, setting down the glass of dark liqueur. his eyes taking a quick peek on the dress that was now bunched on your hips - a momentarily peek, a peek that was so quick that he was sure you wouldn't have saw.

"yeah?" you purred, deciding to be the one to make the first move out of the unspoken need you two shared. you decided to grab the glass he sat down moments ago and bring it your lips, the liquor was strong but you wouldn't show him that.

"uh, y... yeah." elvis choked out, clearing his throat as he felt sudden pressure on his cock. "good things cause a lot of trouble." he purred sinfully, he knew what your intentions were, he knew he wasn't reading this situation wrong... the next move was up to him.

he quickly recovered, shaking off the flustered state you put him in and returning to his cocky self. "good girl's, cause a lot of trouble." he teased in a readily manner, he lustfully over where you stood, watching you with nothing but pure amusement.

"oh, mr. Presley, kill me if im wrong. but i would assume your saying im a good girl?" you cooed, you quirked one of your brows, questioning the man infront of you. you sat your body on the counter, legs dangling as you looked at him curiously.

"isn't that you call a pretty little thing such as yourself, a good girl?" he rasped it so readily, his feet moved him few inches, just so he could stand in between your legs and look at your face.

your chest rose up and down in a needy way, your eyes watching the way his slowly wandered towards your bare hips. "i can be whatever your want, mr. presley." you handed him back his glass of liquor, a barely visible coat of cherry red lip stick on the rim of the glass.

"you’re gonna be a good girl for me, yeah?" he purred as he nodded, grabbing the glass from you, but never did he dare to look away from you. keeping his eyes on you as you felt his finger tips tap your soft thighs. those three taps, gesturing for you to open your legs so he could stand in between them.

and you listened, never did you hesitate. he looked down at your parted legs, oh god, how many times has he thought about this exact moment. he didn't know where to start, he just knew by before the night was over he would have kissed every inch of your body.

"how do you want me, baby?" one of his rough hands gently squeezed your hips, while the other finally began reaching the soaking lace panties that covered your pussy.

you felt his duo of fingers applying light pressure to your clit, causing a shaky whimper to leave your mouth.

"i... i just, " you trailed off, you looked down to see his hardened cock poking through his leather pants - you took a peek, a peek so quick you thought he wouldn't even notice.

"just need you inside me, mr. presley." you whimpered, rolling your hips up towards where he needed attention from you most - causing breathy moans to slip from his and your lips as you felt his needy dick rub you through your lace panties.

"that'ta girl." Elvis teased, he began slipping the wet pink lace off, a cocky smirk on his lips as he pickpocketing them. your hands traveled towards the zipper of his black leather pants, the sound of the zipper unzipping could be heard alongside your's and Elvis's needy breaths.

"so eager, baby?" he chuckled, the sound of the leather dropping to the floor - and just as quick as his pants were off, so were his boxers. there was nothing holding him back from fucking you.

precum on the tip of his hard dick, his body telling him he needed this more than anything.

" y'look so pretty like this, mama." he breathily cooed against your neck, placing sloppy kisses all over your collar bones as you and him were chest to chest. you felt his hand gently hover over your lower abdomen, pressing ever so gentle - leaving you slightly confused.

his dick began grazing over the slit of your pussy, his precum mixing with the wetness of your pussy his words he squeezed out of you. your hands gripped his shoulders, getting yourself ready and steady.

he then lined his dick with your hole, he looked at you for confirmation. you nodded readily and quickly, moving your hips that he had been gripping up a few inches. "please." you whimpered, his tip in your hole, you just needed him to completely to enter you.

and as soon as you whimpered, you felt his dick slowly filling you up. his dick was bigger than any other dick that had entered your body before. you felt your walls tighten around him, your nails burying into his shoulders as his hands squeezed your hips.

"pussy was made for me." he didn't move, letting your needy hole get used to the feeling as you both let out incoherent whimpers. his eyes squeezed shut, head buried in your shoulder, and hot and heavy breaths following.

his dick hadn't left your hole all the way when he then snapped his hips into yours, taking you by surprise as you felt his hand lift your thigh around his waist - hoping to get access to the spot that would drive insane even if he slightly grazed over it.

he set a harsh but slow pace, each thrust was better than the other. you felt yourself subconsciously rocking against his, breathy whimpers and moans slipping from his mouth was only encouraging you to continue.

He was making you feel so good, like you expected him to. His dick seemed to be made for you, all of its veins and curves hitting the right spots inside you.

you felt his hand pressed against your lower abdomen again, but this you felt something else other than his hand.

he wanted you to feel him, inside and out. so you saw the bulge of his dick with each time he slammed into you, you could basically feel that familiar Spring coil form.

"s... so damn.. " he cut him self off with a harsh thrust in your pussy, causing you to let out a high pitched moan. " tight, just for ... me."

and just if you thought that was too much, you felt his fingers press against your swollen button. pressing and tracing circles around your wet clit as his dick dipped in and out.

This pleasure filled encounter couldn’t last forever, even if you wished it could. Soon enough your walls began to clench around him, making his thrust slow down to enjoy the way you squeezed. He was choking out moans into your ear, his voice raspy and shaky.

"elvis... m'close." you whimpered shakily, his hands guiding your hips as you felt his dick pulse, the familiar feeling of your pussy getting sensitive with each time his fingers and dick did their most.

and he made sure to touch that g spot, pushing his dick into so deep that you were sure to cum any moment. "fuck!" you breathlessly moaned, everything around you went hot when his dick hit that spongy spot.

"that'ta girl." he pressing down lightly on your lower stomach so you really felt him whilst shushing you.

it was like all of the juices you had been collecting had finally released just by his dick grazing that sweet spot, your vision went white, and your body jerked into his - his arm wrapped against your body, hugging against you as he rode out his high.

you could hear the sound of yours and Elvis's cum mixing, the shaky pants you two shared, something you would never forget.

tag list . . . !

@marinarose12 @rysssaa @domaniquessidehoe @wistoric @givemehickeysplease @mr-aurum @feral4austinbutler @pandora-journey @kissingrhi @ash-omalley @queendelrey @heartsbomb @djarinlgc @austinbutler4life @adoreyouusugar

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netherfeildren · 8 months

Text

I urge you: Bite me

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Sometimes love hurts like a split nail, and sometimes we like it like that.

Sometimes Joel hurts like a split nail, you like him like that too.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Raider era Joel; Angst; Obsessive behavior; Possessive behavior; Toxic relationships; Controlling behavior; Mean Joel; Kind of soft Joel too; Frankly, some pretty pathetic behavior; Surprisingly soft sex; Breeding kink; Creampie; Oral sex (f!receiving); Dirty talk; Fingering; Come eating; Size difference; Older man/younger woman; Buckle up we’re going old man trapping!; Joel Miller comes with his own TW

A/N: Idk what to say, she's just in a silly goofy mood, I guess!

Title is from Stigmata: Escaping Texts by Hélène Cixous

Word Count: 9.8K

Read on AO3

You’ve been watching him for close to half an hour now. The longest you’ve probably ever gone without him catching you, barking at you to get lost.

Sometimes… he’s mean.

Cold and brutish and maybe even a little cruel. Not an ounce of patience for the pesky little crush he knows you’ve been nursing for him from the first moment you’d met him. He’s never thrown it in your face, a sort of kindness, you suppose, but it’s always just there, on the periphery, the tip of his tongue, the corner of the room. Hanging over your heads like a black cloud. The reality of the fact that you’re pretty sure you’d do anything he asked of you, in any form, no matter what it was. You’d give him anything if he wanted it from you. This pervasive need to please and impress him. To be strong enough, smart enough, savvy enough to keep up with him and Tess, and yet, you’re always shut out, left behind, scolded or scorned or belittled, and still, and still you want him.

But then other times–other times he could be sweet. Or whatever weak sort of pretense of sweetness a man like him could muster up; like the fruit he brings you on occasion, sweetness. The first time he’d done it you’d cried yourself to sleep afterwards. Heart set to burst, stomach in your throat. Getting down on your knees in gratitude to a man who is just on this side of not completely hating you for a simple piece of fruit doesn’t seem like the best way to get him to respect you, to not look at you as a burden. You’d held off from doing that… just barely.

Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel Joel

You don’t think you’re obsessed with him. Or– you don’t like to call it that. But you do look up to him and you do want him and you would do anything he ever asked of you no matter what it did to you. You’d met him and Tess shortly after you’d arrived in Boston, joined their crew or whatever it was that they called themselves when they went out and did things they weren’t supposed to be doing. You know they have something between them, don’t know the specifics, the technicalities, and you don’t like to think of it. Mostly you push it from your mind and look the other way when they get too close, intimate voices and lingering touches that make your belly sour and curdle, your eyes pinch hot so that you have to call it a day and head home after that.

They live together. Or at least you think they do. They keep you at arms length enough to know that there are two apartments they keep, one that you’re pretty is for contraband and one for fucking and sleeping and eating, but you’re not entirely sure. Another thing you like to close your eyes to.

They never let you do much, don’t trust you, don’t think you competent or strong enough which is fair and fine you suppose. But you’re smart, good with numbers, sound logical head on your shoulders and they know this. Hard pressed as they are to admit it, sometimes you have good ideas, and sometimes they come to you for your opinion on logistics, distances, measurements. These are the times Joel is cruelest. He gets mean when he’s nervous, like a bad dog. And your involvement in their business makes him nervous as hell. Mostly you fetch things for them, and Tess likes to call you puppy sometimes which you know is just another way of saying you’re his little bitch. Something that, deep inside of you where it’s quiet and secret and maybe a little delusional, you think he’d not stand for if she actually said those words out loud. There is, you think, a line to his cruelty and a space he keeps you in, and that line is not to be crossed and that space not to be trespassed, and if it weren't for the way he looks at you sometimes, the fruit or the sweater he’d brought you once, it’s soft, goes with you, he’d told you, you’d not have noticed that line or that space. But it’s there, you know it’s there.

Lately though, things have been… you don’t know, tenser, perhaps. Angrier, on the edge of something, verging on a scream or a fight. Between the two of them, but also towards you. You’d worried they were getting sick of you or that they’d finally realized the little they had you do was not nearly enough to warrant including you in their takings – even though you knew they always cut you short and took the bigger piece for themselves. A few days ago, you’d been exhausted, taking shifts at the old mall for cleanup behind their backs, Joel doesn’t like it when you take FEDRA work, but the dude you rented your little room from had told you last week he’d be upping your rent to twenty rations a week, a truly obscene amount. And you didn’t want to tell Tess and Joel, you didn’t, couldn’t ask them for help, and you also didn’t want to get kicked out of your room. So you’d taken a few shifts on the down low, just as a source of cushion. They’ve been planning a big haul for several days now, and she’d come to you to double check their measurements and distance calculations. Easy work you should’ve been through with quickly, but you’d been so tired. Overworked and underfed because sometimes you’re stupid and soft and share too much with the old lady that lives in the room next door to yours, and your head had been throbbing something fierce, vision glowing bright white. You just needed sleep, and Tess had been so sick of you, angry and snappish, and you’d even thought, just for a second, that she was going to strike you when you couldn’t make sense of their notes and the plan she was disclosing to you. Which had admittedly surprised you for as shit as they usually treated you, they’d never once, either of them, laid a hand on you. And it had surprised you doubly from Tess who, despite the puppy shit, could sometimes be sort of kind to you. You know it’s pity, but you also know she’s a good person. Despite the stealing and the drug dealing, and yeah probably, or most definitely, even the murdering – she’s a good person. Or whatever semblance of a good person a world like this allows for now. So yeah, something was off. A petty and bitter and terrible part of you hopes it’s something between them. That they’re breaking up, that he’s leaving her, that he’s finally realized he wants you as much as you want him. Wishful thinking of a silly little girl.

He calls you soft. Sometimes, he probably even calls you dumb. How could he not when you follow him around the way you do? Half the moon shining in your eyes for him. You could say you don’t care, and most of the time you don’t, but like you’d said, things were different recently. Tense and angry and there was a frenetic sort of energy that buzzed around Joel whenever you came around now, an extra ounce of pity punctuated by something sharp and mean in Tess’s gaze that’s added to you having pulled back a little from them as of late, as well.

And then there had been, well… you don’t want to think of it. You turn your face away from where you’ve been watching him the past half hour, sitting on a dirty bench a ways away from where he’s been having a conversation with another man since you’ve been sat here. They look like they're arguing, or better said, the man looks like he’s trying to argue at Joel who’s scowling down at him with a look of utter disdain and disgust, thick bulging arms crossed across his chest. You cross your own legs at the knee, pressing your thighs together. You don’t want to look at him anymore. You don’t want to see him anymore. You don’t want to love him anymore because you’d never really loved anyone else before your whole life, but you’re pretty sure you love Joel. As mean or as angry or as cold as he can be, you’re pretty sure you love him. Again, like you’d said, silly girl.

And there had been that thing last week, the bursting of the old rotten fruit the three of you pose as, which you don’t like to think of, but which, if you’re being honest, has lived like the plague, like a parasite inside of your mind the past week since it’d happened. You were supposed to meet them at noon last Thursday at the apartment, but it’d seemed like it was about to start pouring so you’d headed over a little early, had put on the soft blue sweater he’d brought you days back and hadn’t wanted it to get wet. Foolish. And you’d knocked, you had, you always did for this exact reason, but when there’d been no answer you’d stupidly pushed the door open anyways, they’d told you to meet them there at noon it was only ten minutes to noon, you weren’t even that early, only to be met with the sight of Tess’s retreating form into the restroom, shutting the door behind her, and him, a curdle of bile in your throat, his naked torso, thick and strongly built, hard muscle and hair and scars, jeans open and his thick, long cock, lying heavily on his belly, still shiny with damp slick, the white of his spurted semen glistening on the skin of his abdomen and chest. There was a sheen to his collarbones and his forehead and his dark curls were a mess, like fingers had been recently run through them.

When you were ten you watched your parents get killed in a raid right in front of you. The sight of him like this by the hands of another woman was not as bad, but very close. You’d paused for a too long second, hand on the doorknob that felt cold as dry ice, burning your skin, and the two of you had just stared at each other. His gaze had been so vacant, so hard. Like he’d wanted you to see, like he was glad. You couldn’t help the tears that had filled your eyes because you knew that he knew. Knows how you feel. A muscle under his right eye had spasmed at the sight of your emotion, the frown in his brow deepening and as he’d made to stand up to tuck away the source of your horror you’d spun on your heel and ran. Down the stairs and straight across the entirety of the QZ to the opposite end, as far away as you could get from them and that apartment and the sight of his wet and used cock. You’d gone to the far wall of the QZ that spot where you knew there was a little part in the slats you liked to look out of sometimes when you were feeling restless and trapped, and you’d thrown up in the dry and overgrown grass.

It’d been a week and a day since then, and you want to hate him so badly. You want to hate him so badly. But you’re pretty sure the incident had only made you want him more.

And you want to hurt him too.

Which is surprising because you lack a severe sense of violence or hardness a life like this now warrants, but also not because it’s just been too much. Too much of being belittled, too few scraps of kindness, affection, softness, compassion, anything. And maybe you were soft or dumb or too young, too naive, too weak or any of the other things they liked to call you, puppy, but you also have a limit, even though you’d not previously known that it existed, and you’re pretty sure now that you’re coming to that limit pretty soon.

Honest or pathetic or whatever it is that it sounds like, the truth is that you just want someone to be nice to you. To pet your hair or hold you or tell you that you’re good and that it’ll all be okay. You want that very badly, and he will not give that to you, this you know with absolute certainty.

There is also the issue of your friend Adam. Adam who lives on the opposite side of your old neighbor, and who is kind and sweet and patient and who helped you get the clean up job at the mall. He likes you, you know it. Maybe he even wants you. But he’s just so– he’s not– no, you won’t think on that either right now.

Over half an hour now, and he’s not snapped at you to quit staring at him. Come over here and handed your ass to you for following him around or eavesdropping on his conversation. He hasn’t looked over at you a single time. Maybe he hasn’t noticed you, maybe a week and a day is long enough for him to have forgotten about you entirely, and your heart pinches and burns at the thought. You close your eyes to the warm sun. The weather is so unusually nice today. The sun, soft and soothing, and if you tip your head back and let the light of it shine through the thin membrane of your eyelids, you can feel that heat seep into your eyes, feel it on your bare arms propped up on the back of the bench. You’re tired today, again. That sort of bone tired that makes you dizzy and sick in your belly. Not enough food, not enough sleep, not enough anything. There’s a meagerness that lives about you all the time now, but there’s warmth right here in this spot on the bench, and Joel nearby, and even if he hasn’t noticed you, even though he’s never really noticed you, the sun is still there, and it’s still nice to watch him from afar. And yes, you’re pathetic, but you don’t really care about that so much, to be honest.

You want to hate him so badly.

“Where ya been?” He knocks the edge of his boot into the prominence of bone on the outside of your ankle and you hiss, jerking your leg back and away from him, not having heard him come up. He never says your name. Never. You’ve heard him utter the word four times in the entirety of the time the two of you have known each other, and it makes you want to bear your teeth at him or kick him in the shin, scream until his ears bleed. Does he really think you so small and insignificant that he cannot even address you by name when he speaks to you? Asshole.

“I’ve been here,” and there is too much truth to the words.

“On this bench?”

“What?” you look away from him again, swallowing. He is not a funny person, and you would like to tell him so. He’s looming over you, hands on his hips and a pissed off look on his face, and sometimes, you’ve realized that the angrier he gets the wetter it makes you, and you really don’t want to think about that right now either. You’re too tired, you don’t want to think about anything. You wonder if anyone’d notice if you just laid down right here and went to sleep forever. There are two warring sides within you, one that whispers that you could drop dead infront of him, and he’d not give a single fuck, and another that says that if something bad happened to you he’d be truly, truly displeased.

You feel newly hatched, newly made, too exhausted to deal with the enormity of all you feel for him right now.

He tries to knock your ankle again, and you whip your face back towards him “What do you want?” You spit at him, and his mouth parts, a little shocked, you’ve never been anything but meek and sweet and desperate towards him. But the shock of your temper passes quickly, and you watch him harden like stone before your very eyes. His face and demeanor going stony and angry and serious, readying to put you in your place. The sight of it chases all the fight out of you, you deflate like a sadly trampled flower and seem to melt into the surface of the bench. Let him do and say what he will, you don’t care anymore.

“I want you to fucking look at me when I’m speaking to you, first of all. And I want to know where you’ve been and why you haven’t come around?”

Voice dead: “Don’t you also want to know why I don’t knock before walking into other people’s homes?” And you don’t know where it comes from, and you kind of feel like you might vomit at his feet or start crying or a little bit of both, but you’re glad you say it anyways.

Another look of shock, and if you weren’t so beaten down bone dead tired, you’d probably smile a little. But that passes quickly again too and like a knife to a lung or a fist to the belly he says, “You did knock.”

So he knew and let you see anyways. You nod once, “You’re right, I did.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“What?”

“Stop being purposefully fuckin’ obtuse, little girl.” Little girl, fuck you.

“Obtuse. Big word, I thought you needed me for the brains.”

His frown changes, different form anger, more like confusion; “What’s wrong with you today?” You don’t know. You feel sad. Tired. Alone. Angry.

“Nothing,” you lie, looking away from him. “Did you need something from me?” You know what the answer will be.

“No.” Yeah.

A dip of your chin. “I gave Tess my notes. The plan for tonight’s good.” You slide to the far end of the bench so that you can stand without being too close to him, and he takes a single side step towards you. All at once: confused, questioning, angry look on his face. You want to smooth out the little frowning wrinkle between his eyebrows, you want to hate him, you want to take him inside of you. The sight of his wet cock flashes in your mind. If he fucked you it’d hurt, you’re sure of it. You’re also sure you’d like it if it did. Your mother had died before you’d become a woman, gotten your period, known anything about what it would be like to walk around the world with a thing between your legs that men would covet. You’d gone to live with a woman who was kind of her friend, but not really, but who in the end, had been kind enough to shelter a lonely child, told you about the world and set you up so that you’d at least survive on your own, if not thrive. She’d told you that sometimes love hurt like a split nail, and that sometimes we liked it like that. That sometimes people came out a little gnarled and looked for equally strange things in return, and that you should be wary of this but not punish yourself for it. Things were the way they were. You’d not understood at the time, had only thought her to have the saddest sort of eyes you’d ever seen in your short life, but when you looked at yourself in the mirror now as a grown woman, you saw those same sort of eyes reflected back at you, and you felt you understood what she’d meant.

He takes another small step towards you, and you look the opposite way, down the street towards your cold little room with the land lord who you’re pretty sure is eventually going to ask for a fuck instead of rations. The thought of that is somehow tragically better than the thought of his damp and used body and that cold and taunting look in his eyes, Tess’s pity and sharp voice and desire to strike you.

Adam had said he had more work for you tonight, you think you’ll sleep for a few hours and then go find him. “You’re not coming,” he says sharply, interrupting your thoughts, invading your thoughts like always.

You look back at him, the frown, the aggressive, commanding aspect of him. Of course he doesn't want you there. “No, I’m not. I have other things I need to do.” Stupid to add that on, but you can’t help yourself.

“Like what?”

“My friend Adam has been finding me work.” Stupid, stupid. Shut your damn mouth.

“What the fuck are you talking about? That’s where you’ve been running off to these past few days? I thought we had an arrangement the three of us–”

You scoff, “An arrangement? That’s what it was? I thought I was just your puppy,” and the words burn and writhe like something poisoned on your tongue. You’d never said that word aloud to him, never acknowledged what it is they see you as.

He swallows, at a loss for words, “Listen, if this is about–”

“Joel, I don’t care how you keep your dick wet. We had,” another bitter laugh, we, what a fucking joke, “The arrangement served its purpose, but I think it’s run its course, don’t you? I’ll help with plans when you guys need me, but I need more work. Teddy,” the landlord, “s’been asking for more rent rations–”

“That slimy fuck can’t do that to you–”

You ignore him, stepping back and soldiering on, “And I need more work. I’ve been helping the clean up crews–”

His eyes go wide and bugged and furious, and he takes several more steps to match your retreating ones, “You’ve been doing fucking what? And who the fuck is Adam?” he growls, hand coming up to catch you when all you want at this moment is for him to finally let you go. At the same time, the man he was speaking to before, the pseudo arguer, calls out to him from behind, coming up upon the two of you, and when Joel turns to look back at him you spin on your heel and scamper away as quick as you can. He calls out your name after you, the fifth time he’s ever said it, and it is no longer a split nail, but a split limb, a split rib, a split heart, something terrible and devastating.

You make it back to your room in time to collapse into the saddest puddle of tears that’s surely ever existed. Face down, buried in your pillows you cry for a thing you’d never even had the possibility of having, but which still hurts like a blow to the skull nonetheless. Something that you can no longer push from your mind or close your eyes to or swallow and hide away in your belly. He doesn’t love you. He never has and he never will, and there was never the possibility of it, and you have to accept that. And you must also accept that it is not some failing on your part, his inability to choose you, to love you. You know that there are parts of Joel that are broken beyond repair, sometimes people come out a little gnarled and look for equally strange things in return, and you cannot tell yourself either that it’s his loss because honestly, perhaps, it isn’t. Perhaps, it just isn't meant to be, and it is no sort of loss because it was never really anything that was ever supposed to really be. You must tell yourself these things not to hurt yourself but because you are tired of hurting. He doesn't love you, and it isn't your fault, and there's nothing you could have done about it and nothing you can do about it and things move forward anyways.

You sleep after this, lulled into unconsciousness by the pounding of your temples and the slow, cold drip of your tears across the bridge of your nose and into your ear. The wall your bed is pushed up against is a sickly yellow color, deep, old cracks and water damage marring the surface, and it’s such a sad sight it makes you even more depressed, and when you finally close your eyes to escape it, even though all you can see in your mind is the look on his face right before you walked away from him, even though it’s an infinitely painful sort of thing, it soothes you in a sick and twisted sort of way to know he’s out there in the world existing. Even if you want to hate him, even if you don’t, even if his very existence pains you, it’s still somehow comforting.

The job Adam has for you turns out to be stupider and more dangerous and bigger than you’d bargained for. His crew is trying to steal a generator from an old FEDRA warehouse that they’d heard about through their grapevine of informants. He doesn’t tell you what the generator is for, nor where it is they’re exactly stealing it from. All he tells you is that he needs you to stand at a previously decided upon spot in the woods near where their drop off location is, and keep watch. There will be another person posted a few miles away from you, and if there’s any movement there shouldn’t be you’re to come looking for the next person who’ll find the next and then the next and alert whoever it is that needs to be alerted that something’s amiss. Stand, watch, signal if necessary, and it seems simple enough, but the catch, the fact that you need to leave the QZ is what you’d not accounted for. Something you’d never done before. After several hours of restless sleep and a slightly revolting can of old chili and beans you feel partially more yourself and not so haggardly terrible. You’ve decided that the conversation with Joel never happened and that you’re going to avoid the two of them for the rest of your life and pretend like you never met them and they don’t exist and maybe you’ll even give Adam a chance to fuck you, and then perhaps, the memory of Joel will be jostled out of your head by another mans dick. Good, sound plan.

It’s raining something awful outside by the time the two of you make it to the meetup point and the place where you’re to stay and keep watch, and you don’t think about the fact that at this very moment Tess and Joel are probably also sneaking their way out of the QZ to go on their own run. You’re comforted by the fact that you know that their raid will lead them in the opposite direction of where you’ll be tonight. The spot you’re to keep isn’t so deep in the woods that the moonlight isn’t able to make its way through the trees, and the rain has abated slightly by the time you’re settled into your spot on the cold ground where you’re to wait and watch. Adam leaves with a short nod and a brush of his thumb to the high arch of your cheekbone which elicits a slightly nauseating flip of your stomach that you choose to ignore. Evasion is obviously your favorite tactic of self preservation, and you wonder when all this burying of your head in the sand will finally catch up to you.

You sit for several hours in the dark silence, and it eventually stops raining and with the cessation of the cold downpour comes your fear. The silence is so loud and the dark seems to swell and throb around you with the loss of the rhythm and movement of the rain. You’re freezing cold, and Adam had said to not move until he came back for you, but he’d not specified how long that’d be, and now that you’re stuck here, shivering and stomach cramping with hunger, fuck those beans, you’re realizing how ostensibly stupid this was of you, and you also can’t help but think that Joel would have never asked this of you, he would have never left you out here in the dark wilderness unprotected, he probably would’ve tied you up and muzzled you before he even let you out of the QZ, and to be perfectly honest, you think you’d probably like that too. Pathetic.

You sit for a short while longer before something shifts. The moon or the wind or something that doesn’t feel right; your level of fear ricochets up to a scream for a second, and then you hear the snap of a branch from what seems to be one side, and then the shift of trees from another direction. You get to your feet and make a slow circle in the place your standing, frightened eyes searching the darkness for something that shouldn’t be there, and as you’re about to call it quits and bolt, fuck Adam and his stupid plan, you’re jerked back into a rock solid, wide chest, large, rough hand clamping tight and painful over your mouth. You freeze paralyzed for a single second, heart racing within your chest like a small animal on the verge of death, but then his rough voice, angrier than you’ve ever heard it, soft in your ear. “You better tell me I’m hallucinating you out here right now.” Your body sags, adrenaline leaving you in a florid rush, so that you’re wilting in his hold. You make a choked, garbled sort of noise in your throat, head hanging so that the weight of it is held in the cup of his palm, and you’re pretty sure you feel his head bend to nose into the back of your loose hair at the base of your skull. The two of you stand like that for a few moments while you catch your breath, and yes, that’s definitely the tip of his nose smelling at your hair, the soft place behind your ear. The feel of his skin meeting yours sparks a sort of frenzy within you, and you snap into rage, limbs jerking and shivering and throwing you into movement, pulling yourself out of his grip and whipping back to face him. In the weak light of the moon you can see that his eyes are darker and angrier than you’ve ever seen them. Even that time you were incredibly stupid and clumsy and had slipped on a ladder you shouldn’t have been climbing, for a job you shouldn’t have taken and cracked a rib. He is definitely more furious with you this time.

“Let me guess,” he spits, taking an aggressive step towards you, “This is the fucking job your little fuckin’ friend got for you.” He says your name again, for the sixth time and twice in one day, and it’s enfolded in a casing of rage that feels bitter and punishing in a way that makes a sharp pain start up behind your left eyeball, deep in your brain. “How fucking stupid can you be coming out here? You’re going to get yourself killed, caught, thrown in FEDRA prison, and I’m not gonna be able to get your ass out, you hear me? You are not fuckin’ built to be out here doin’ shit like this and–”

You rush at him suddenly, using all your weight to slam your palms into his chest, the rain has started up again, and he’s slightly slippery and steaming hot beneath his wet clothes. You slam your tiny and inconsequential fists into the incredible strength of his chest, the other going up to the edge of his jaw to try and shove his face back but he’s too strong and too big and too unmoved so that you’re left to resort to simply digging your nails into the meat of his cheek like a pathetic little kitten. “I am so fucking sick–” you try and shove him again, and he takes a looming step into you, bumping his chest into yours and jostling you into taking a forced step back, “Of the way you treat me.” You drag your nails over the edge of his jaw and down his neck, trying to draw blood, incite a reaction, but he’s made of stone and you hate him. “You’re such a fucking asshole all the time, and I’m tired of it, and I hate you.” There are tears sliding down your face, and you thank the sky for the masking of the rain. “You find me so fucking burdensome, so annoying, so useless or whatever your fucking problem is with me then go away, leave me alone! What I’m doing out here is none of your business.” Another weak slam of your fists to his chest, the drag of your nails down the thick jut of his collarbone, and you shove yourself back and away from him. Chest heaving, throat choked with tears and resentment and fear and love for him.

“You hate me, huh?” he says very quietly and very calmly.

Your face spasms in frustration and rage, and you turn away from him to face the dark of the surrounding woods, hands coming up to clutch and pull at your hair. “Yes. I hate you so much,” the sobbing heaves make it all sound very convincing, you’re sure.

“And you’re tired of the way I treat you?”

Why is he so fucking calm? Maybe you should hit him again. “Yes, I am.”

“Got your little panties all in a twist, don’t you, little girl?” Little, little, little. Your heart dips down into your stomach, your arms falling to hang limply at your sides. “But I bet if I checked, they’d also be wet for me right now, wouldn’t they?” You’ve never heard his voice sound like this. You turn slowly back to look at his face again, but before you can even shake your head, deny it, he’s rushing at you, strong hand clamping painfully around your jaw, smooshing your cheeks together, and he’s seething at you through clenched teeth. “You fuckin hate me? Well I hate you back. I hate you more. More than you could ever imagine, and I fucking hate how much you make me want you.” Your eyes go wide and shocked and full of tears. “Huh? How ‘bout that? Bet you weren’t expectin’ that, were you?” He’s so angry the drawl of his accent is deepened, sharper, amputating the ends of his words with his rage, and he shoves you away by the grip on your face, leaving you to stumble in shock.

You can’t speak, can’t say anything, he’s struck you dumb. Your eyes slither down his wet form. His soaking flannel is plastered to his thick torso, big, bulging arms and wide chest, his long legs encased in dark denim. When your gaze makes its way back up to his face he’s scowling at you. “Got nothin’ to say?” You take a tiny step back and he matches it with one of his own forward, a half jerk of your chin. “Have you let that stupid fuck have you?”

And you really weren’t expecting that, “What?” voice confused and breathy, heat pooling low in your tummy. You look over his shoulder at the dark space behind him, “Where’s Tess?”

He shakes his head, irritated and short, “I pissed her off. She stayed back. Adam – are you letting him fuck you?” Another step forward to match one of your own, and his eyes flash down to your feet, he gives a slight shake of his head as if to warn you off of your retreat.

This angers you. “What do you care who I’m letting have me? What if he is fucking me? As if that’s any of your damn business.” You take two more steps back, and his face spasms in anger.

“Fucking run,” he whispers, “I dare you.” Your legs lock in obstinacy, you’re not doing what he tells you anymore. “Answer me. Are you letting him fuck you?”

“No.” Pathetic.

“But he wants to.”

“Yes.”

Something verging on a snarl deep in his chest, “And he brought you out here? Left you out here alone? When he wants you like that? And you were stupid enough to let him?” But suddenly, something is clicking inside of your mind, and you’re not really paying attention to the things he’s saying to you anymore. He’s angry. He’s jealous. You give him a little smile and oh, that really pisses him off. You give another step back, nod your head gently at him, soft smile widening. Another deep, rumbly sound that makes your cunt go soft and wet and your heart gallop inside of you. “You better fucking run, little girl. You’re not going to like what happens when I get my hands on you, and I’m not going to care.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a promise, and you don’t need him to tell you twice. You spin on your heel and make a run for it. Weaving through the trees, guided by the weak light of the rainy moon, you know there are houses a short ways west, and you pump your legs and arms as fast as you can in that direction. You’ll hide in one of them. If he finds you, catches you is a thought for when or if he does so. But you can hear the heavy pound of his boots slamming against the ground behind you, close enough to jostle your heart up into your throat, and you let out an entirely inappropriate little squeal as you do your best to speed up. But he’s stronger, legs longer and more powerful and being caught was an inevitability. As soon as the first house comes into view an uncompromisingly strong arm is wrapping around your waist, painfully crushing your ribs in the circle of his grasp and slamming you into his chest. He comes to a jerking halt with you held in his arms, and the length of his panting, steaming body presses into your back, his other arm coming up to circle you as well, and he reaches for your heaving breast, clutching the heavy weight of it tightly in his hand and squeezing a ragged moan out of the both of you at the same time. “Caught you,” he whispers into your throat, pressing a thick, growing erection into your bottom. He spins you in his hold, nothing gentle about the way he handles you, grips you by the jaw forcing your mouth open, fingers digging between your molars and slams his mouth to yours, wet tongue licking into you, tasting behind your teeth, the surface of your tongue. You moan and claw and scratch at him, trying to hit him and pull him closer and push him away, all at the same time. Hand snaking from your jaw to fist in the back of your hair he yanks your head back, wet mouth left open and panting and that anger is different now, something unrecognizable about it when he says, “More than anything though, I hate how much I want this cunt.” His hand on your waist has slithered down over your ass and between your legs to cup your pussy in his wide hand, fingers pressing harshly at the seam of your denim over your clit. You think you must whisper his name because he nods his head once, and then is bending at the knees to press his shoulder into the soft of your belly and straightening to his full height again with you slung over the thick mass of his wide shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You don’t even protest, just lay there limply, arms and hair hanging overhead and swaying with the rhythm of his gait as he starts to walk towards the first house, and all you can think is finally.

He does two slow roves around the house before he tries the backdoor handle, in the end, simply resorting to kicking it in. He pauses at the threshold for a moment, and he’s not even slightly out of breath with the entirety of your weight folded over his shoulder after that chase. The ground is so far away from where you hang, he’s so tall, and you can’t help it when you drag your hand up the denim over the back of his thigh, over the thick swell of muscle of his ass to the edge of his jeans where you tuck your fingers in, feeling the heat of his damp skin. He growls at that, at the feel of your exploration and grips the back of one of your thighs tightly, the other coming up to squeeze an ass cheek in his hand, and then you feel the press of his face and the sharp bite of his teeth as he sinks them into the side of your ass over the thick fabric of your pants with a gruff snarl. You whimper, digging your fingers into the muscles of his lower back. He kicks the door shut behind you and moves slowly through the entire house after that, pistol gripped in one hand, you in the other, making sure the house is alone and secure. When he’s finally assured himself that the two of you are alone, he makes his way to one of the bedrooms, shutting and locking the door behind the two of you and then ripping the old dusty comforter and pillows off the bed where he shucks you off his shoulder, letting you fall to the mattress with a limp bounce. He doesn’t even ask, doesn’t say anything, simply starts at the laces of your boots, pulling them from your feet and then your socks where he lifts your small foot, big hand wrapped entirely around the thing of it, and drags his teeth over your sensitive instep. You moan, trying to pull your limb away from him, but he flashes you a hot and warning look and you settle. What’s the point in fighting, you think, if this is the very thing you’ve wanted all this time anyways? He pulls you up by the lapels of your too thin jacket, which he tuts at recriminatingly, divests you of it. Before he pushes you back to flop on the bed again, he grips you by the throat to lick into your mouth once more, moans deep and wanton in his chest, a vibration of sound you’ve never before heard from any man at the simple taste of you. He works at your jeans and sweater next, then finally your panties and bra. He doesn’t seem to really look until you’re finally entirely bare for him, limbs splayed out, soft and loose and too sticky sweet. His eyes are like fire, they burn, and you stretch and arch for him, letting him scorch you. He falls forward, propped up over you by the strength of his thick arms and dips his head to suck a single nipple into his mouth, opens his jaw wider and bites at the full globe of your breast as if he could swallow the entire thing. He moves to give the other one equal attention, your hands coming up to thread through his thick curls, and when he looks back up at you his gaze is manic, and if you wanted him less, maybe had more sense, it would perhaps be frightening.

“What do you want?” He asks you in a way that tells you he doesn’t really care what your answer is.

“Anything.”

He shakes his head at you as he moves to grip you beneath the bend of each knee to spread you wide for him. “Begging for things you don’t know nothin’ about.”

“I don’t care,” you tell him, “I want them anyways,” because it’s the truth, and he nods his head like he already knew, like he knows everything there is to know about you and maybe even the things that you don’t even know about yourself yet.

“You’re too young,” he shoulders his way down to lay on his belly between your thighs, and when his eyes land on your slick, swollen cunt his voice drops down to an even lower octave. “And you want this too much.”

“I know. I don’t care.” You drag your thumb over the arch of his thick eyebrow, the hairs are coarse but soft and then he lowers his mouth to your pussy.

He eats your cunt like everything else he does, a little mean. Starts with gentle laps, soft kisses, but eventually, graduates to sharp sucks and harsh nips, all teeth and tongue and plush lips so that your hips are arching in desperate and begging little motions, thrusting up into his face. When he presses first one then two of those thick long fingers into your opening it pinches in a way you weren't expecting. Only his fingers have you twinging on the verge of discomfort, and you don’t know how you’ll take his cock, but you know he isn’t going to give you the opportunity for choice or pause, and so you lay there and spread your legs wider and take it. He interchanges between rough and gentle, fingers petting softly at that sensitive place inside of you you’ve always wanted to give him, but mouth sharp and mean sucking harshly at your clit, nipping at the lips of your sex and the vulnerable soft of your thighs, covering the entirety of your pussy with his mouth and then licking at your fluttering hole when he pulls his fingers from you to taste the rivulet of slick you’re weeping for him. He groans and you watch the shift of his shoulders and back, the thrust of his hips as he grinds his cock into the mattress desperately, the gathering of sweat at his hairline. He presses his fingers back in, crooks and shakes them inside of you to jostle your orgasm forward, and like every other time you’ve followed him into complacency and obedience blindly, you gush for him, a broken sob of his name splintering from behind the line of your teeth. He’s sucking and kissing at your clit, the space above where his fingers penetrate you, but when you throw your arm over your eyes to hide the sight of your overwhelmed tears from him he pauses, “Want your eyes on me when you’re coming for me, you understand?” A pinch to your asscheek, a kiss to the top of your mound. You sniffle, shifting your head to rest your cheek on your shoulder and watch him over the swell of your breasts as he resumes the work of his mouth on you. He licks through your folds, pulling his fingers from you to lap up all of your spilled lust, and when he’s done, pulling back to look down at you like some conquering villain he reaches down and pats the top of your cunt, “She’s mine now,” he tells you, and you can’t even dispute it. He kneels between your spread legs, a murmured, wanna look at you, as he starts on the buttons of his shirt, pulling it open and baring himself to you. You’d already seen his naked chest that other time, and the memory of it embitters the moment, you turn your face into the crook of your raised arms, hiding your face away from him, and he tuts at you. “Told you, want those gorgeous eyes on me at all times.” And you love him, Christ, you do. It’s the most unfair thing in the world, the most painful thing that’s ever happened to you in your entire life. You want to cry and scream and kick. You obey anyways. Shifting your face with a small sniffle to peer up at him from beneath your lashes. You want to pull your legs closed, feeling suddenly, unbearably shy and hurt and newly made. Like the orgasm he’d pulled forth from you had brought to light the reality of your existence in the world, in his life. A non entity.

And like he can read your mind, like he’s acquired a direct line of communication for himself to your brain, your very heart: “Me and Tess haven’t been anything for a while.” He goes for the button of his jeans, you listen to the teeth of the zipper parting for you. “Not since you started coming around.” You would like to ask him to stop. You make to close your legs, your cunt like a wound in the shape of your desire for him, bared and obvious to the whole world, but he grips you about the round of your knee, squeezing the joint and keeping you spread for him. “I just couldn’t anymore. And the other day– what you saw the other day was just me being desperate and pathetic and unfairly angry at you. It was me being weak and stupid, and that isn’t an excuse.” He stands and shucks his jeans, he’s not wearing underwear, and God, you want him with a sort of desperation that’s unhinged and maybe even wrong or depraved. “She knows we’ve been through. Told her again today, but still… I needed to stay away to keep you away. This shouldn't be happening right now, and yet it’s going to anyway, and after this, it’s going to keep happening–” Your heart flames into elation, and then goes frozen and bitter all at the same time. You want to kick him away, but settle for trying to twist away from him. Angry and hurt and not wanting to hear anymore, to think about him fucking her, of their shared history, their relationship.

You try and wriggle away, but he pulls you back by your hips, big hands sliding up the slopes of your waist to squeeze and knead at your breasts. You grip and claw at him, “I don’t care, I don’t care. I don’t want to hear any of it. You’ve been so–” you gasp on a sob.

“I know,” he nuzzles into your skin. “I know,” a kiss to your jaw and his bare form is settling between your thighs, his thick, long cock coming to rest heavily over the wet, parted seam of your cunt. You gasp at the feel of him there. “Don’t think I’ve ever wanted to take something for myself as badly as I wanted to take you. It made me mean as a dog.” He sucks a nipple into his mouth, biting gently. His mouth is everywhere, his hands gripping and pinching at your breasts, clutching at your ass to grind his hard cock against your pussy. He pulls back, and the wide head notches at your entrance. Oh, please, fuck me, fuck me. Finally.

“Gonna fuck your little cunt, baby. Make you all mine.”

“Please, Joel.” He goes slowly at first, fat head catching on the rim, popping it in and out, he pauses to look down, only his tip held inside of you, and he spits, right at the place where the two of you’re connected, smears it in with his fingers.

“Hot little pussy. Gonna take the whole thing, greedy little girl. Aren’t you?” You nod your head stupidly, mouth hanging open, eyes wide and wet, and you wonder if he can read that you’re in love with him there. You kind of hope he can. He presses in slowly so that you’re forced to feel every bump and ridge, your hips rocking unconsciously, trying to take more faster, but he’s big, thick and heavy, and the taking is not easy. You’re left gasping and arching, writhing wantonly on his cock by the time he’s sunk balls deep inside of you. There’s a bead of sweat sliding down the slope of his cheek, and you have to force yourself to keep your mouth shut and your tongue inside with the hopes of catching it there. He pants and groans, pulling and pressing you closer into him, grinding deep so that the wide head rubs at the mouth of your cervix. You can feel the ripple and shiver of your muscles, your body trying to adjust to such a large invasion and he kisses and licks at your face, your neck and shoulders and tits, and when your breathing has finally settled he pulls back to look down at you, gives a few light thrusts of his hips, eyes glued to the place where your cunt swallows him, spread obscenely, fit to burst around him. He looks back up at you, “Have you adjusted?” A pause for a brief nod of your head, “Yes? Good. Not gonna be gentle.” You don’t think you’ve ever wanted him to be gentle. After all, the way you’ve always felt about him has never been gentle in turn either. His thrusts take on a brutal edge, the wet slap of his balls against your ass loud and sticky against the slick curve of your ass. “Fucking Christ,” he bends his head to nip at your breast, big hand coming up to squeeze the entire thing and suck it into his mouth, “Got the wettest little cunt, baby.”

You want to beg him to go harder, deeper, to fuck you like he’s in love with you. “It’s yours,” you whisper instead.

“Yeah– fuck yes, it is. Yeah, baby, take my cock. Just like that.” He grips you by the knee, bringing your ankle to his shoulder to bob limply there, folding you entirely in half so that he can drill into you, and you reach up to hook your fingers against the edge of his bottom teeth, pulling his mouth open to peer inside. He laps and bites at your fingers, grips your own jaw, your throat, and you drag your nails down his jaw, his neck leaving little scorches of hurt in your wake. “Wanna see you fucked full of my come. Wanna see you leaking me. You gonna let me fill you up, sweet girl?”

Yes, yes, yes, please. Please, fill me up.

Your other ankle thrown over his shoulder now too, he presses his entire weight into you, his face pressed against yours, whispering into your skin, “And if I fuck you full of my baby? What’ll you do then? Hate me more?”

“No, no, never,” voice delirious and filled with a sort of frenetic energy he seems to be able to harness at whim. “Please, please, fuck me full of your baby. Please, I want it so bad, Joel. I do, I do.” He pauses his thrusts, holds there in the depths of you, grinds and squeezes you so tight you think a lung might burst.

When he pulls back the look on his face is just as unhinged as you’ve always felt about him. “Fucking Christ,” he starts to slam back into you, thumb at your clit, the other cradling the bowl of your skull in his palm, fingers woven through your hair. “Yeah– yeah, I’m gonna do it,” he grits. “Then it won’t fucking matter if you hate me or not. You’ll be stuck with me anyways.” He bends to kiss you again, and he tastes like violence, you lick into his mouth, take in the taste of his tongue. When he pulls back to look down at where he’s fucking into you, you reach down to grasp the half of his cock outside of your wet clutch, you want to feel where he’s caliming you, shiny with your slick, you half jack him off with sharp little tugs. “Come inside me, come inside me.” He changes the angle, punches at your g-spot, and the rub of your hand over your clit where you’re gripping him, the feel of his skin, his voice, the slide of his cock, in, in, in, and you’re both shivering and jerking with orgasm, throbbing into one another as he starts to fill you with his spend, his teeth bared in a growl as he marks you with himself. His hips slow, press and grind, and you feel the heavy jerk of his cock inside of you as your muscles work to suck him deeper, milking his come out of him with each tightening pull of your cunt. He presses his face into the damp crook of your shoulder, licks at the sweat gathered there, mouths wetly at your jaw, and you run your hands up the bumps and ridges of his muscled back. There’s a slight tremble running through him, and you hope it means he’s as overwrought by this as you are, that he wanted this as badly as you did, that he’ll want it again as desperately as you already do. He starts to shift, moving down the length of your body, kissing and licking as he goes, his sated cock slipping wetly from your cunt with a shuddered groan from him as he settles back again between your legs and starts to lick the slick from your overwrought cunt. Not seeming to care that he’s eating his own come as well. “Look so pretty drooling me here,” he murmurs, thumbing gently at your trembling opening. “Gonna fill it every day now. Fuck it full of my baby. You want that?” He looks up at you with a sly look, nipping at your thigh, sucking marks into your skin, all you can do is nod. Once he’s through licking you he crawls back up your body, wedges your jaw open and with a puckered mouth lets a long string of spit and come slowly seep out of his mouth and into your open, waiting one. It’s disgusting and dirty and entirely delicious.

As he flops back on top of you heavily, you drag your nails up and down his skin, threading your fingers through his curls and angling his head to hide beneath the edge of your jaw. His breathing starts to slow and deepen after a while, and you smile lightly, wrapping your arms and legs around him like snaking, strangling vines, and pressing your nose into the thick of his hair, taking in the musky, masculine scent of him, you know that after this you'll do anything, anything to keep him here with you just like this.

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#Joel Miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal

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moshpitgamma · 3 months

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😚Zoom Zoom Mama G has posted again!!!

HOPE YALL ENJOY THIS ONE AND I HOPE ITS NOT TO BAD….(You’re older than branch but younger than Floyd btw😌)

Family Reunion||Brozone x Sister Reader

Warning:Angst and Mild Cursing

Word Count:1.3k

Other:It’s kinda proof ridden😝✌️

====================

You knew JD wasn’t always the best brother, but you didn’t expect for it to go like this…

“It’s called BRO-ZONE meaning BROS not GALS” JD said angrily at the h/c haired troll. “So youre saying just because I'm a girl I can’t be in the band. I’m basically the damn melody John.” you loudly yelled at him clearly pissed at how your brother didn’t want you to ruin brozone. “It has to be perfect and the name is perfect for bros. MAYBE IF YOU WERE PERFECT IT COULD WORK, BUT YOU’RE JUST A FUCKING MISTAKE FOR THE BAND” he yelled at y/n tired of her shit. He didn’t mean to totally call her a mistake, but it was too late. She already ran to her room in the shared pod, crying her eyes out and muttering small complaints. All the brothers stood with their mouths agape from witnessing the scene. “John what the hell,” Bruce said, holding the blue decorated egg with blue hair sticking out. “You just called her a damn mistake” “Maybe she is and it would be best if she left….The band is almost there and she’ll just get in the way.” John said it as if he was hoping y/n would leave to save the band for the family harmony. After John said that all the brothers left the area with sour and disapproving faces. Ignoring him till later that night.

It was now 2:34am and fast paced footsteps were heard around the pod waking John up from his humble sleep. He groggily dragged himself out the bed and headed towards the noise and found his three brothers and branch’s egg sitting in the living area. “What’s going on and why are you guys up so early.” John said, kinda annoyed from losing his beauty sleep. “Y/n left” Clay said barely above a whisper. “Huh,” John asked again, not being able to hear Clay. “Y/N FUCKING LEFT” Clay bursted as his tears started pooling his eyes. “You drove our sister away because of your stupid and glorious dream. Now she’s out in the wilderness by herself and we don’t know if she’s alive or dead.” John felt his whole body freeze and run cold. Did he fuck up or was it just you overacting? Before Bruce could add in to the statement, John wasted no time in leaving to go put on his jacket and shoes ready to go find y/n. He left out the door after he finished getting dressed, without a word to his brothers.

________________

{Y/n’s POV}

I woke up in a cold sweat, absolutely drenched from the wrenched nightmare of your older brother. My mind has been messed up recently ever since my eventful trip to mount ragous.

FLASHBACK

“It’s some kind of love”

A voice rang through the area. It was so soft, but with a familiar melody.

“It’s some kind of fire”

It was my part? But sung by someone different. An angelic voice.

“I’m already up, but you lift me higher”

But that’s when it hit you..it was your brothers with a now full grown relationship saving Floyd.

TIME SKIP DONE

{2nd POV}

After your brothers and those two mystery girls brought Floyd back, you couldn’t help ,but feel nothing but relief and a little wave of nervousness. All five of your brothers were standing right there together but the time just didn’t feel right for you. You wanted to go hug and celebrate with them, but you just felt disappointed and angry at them for not trying to find you. Without a word you started walking away, but caught what now sounds like a grown man spruce saying “How about we all celebrate at Vacay island this weekend.” You then had an idea set up perfectly for this Family Reunion.

{Y/N POV}

I sighed heavily as I parked my motor beetle in front of this big resort looking restaurant. “I hope they aren’t too mad to see me” I told myself, trying to hype myself up from all the nerves. As I step foot into the resort I see this tall yellowish woman at the bar, so I head over to ask her where the boys may be. “Umm excuse me…can you help me” I asked her in my nice bright tone. “Of course hun! What can I help you with and by the way you can call me Brandi” she exclaimed, clearly being an extroverted person. “Well you see I’m here looking for my brothers and i’m kinda here to reunite with them after basically being away for 22+ years” I say not trying to sound crazy or out of the ordinary. “Ok well what are their names?”Brandi asked me as she took out a notepad ready to write them down, assuming that it was more than one. “Well to start off it’s John Dory for the first one and Bru-” “Is that them?” she pointed to a corner before quickly apologizing for cutting me off. I was literally stunned when I saw all of them bonding and getting along like we were little kids again. I guess Brandi picked up on my distressed and nervous face that she offered and said” If it makes you any better I can go with you for emotional support” She says tucking a burgundy loc behind her head. “I would like that very much”I say releasing some pent up air that I didn’t know I had.

As Me and Brandi walked to the corner it felt like time was slowing down and my breaths were getting shorter by the second. I was trying to calm myself down in my mind, but I was brought out by Brandi speaking. “Um hi y'all sorry to interrupt, but you guys had a little surprise that decided to drop in today.” As on cue I stepped from behind Brandi with nothing but hope and fear in my chest.

“Who’s that?” Bruce said as he looked at the familiar troll. “If you wanted an autograph you could’ve asked us” John laughed as he pulled out a notepad and passed it around to each of the brothers to sign. “Are you guys kidding me?” I exclaimed, wondering if they were joking or not. Every single last one of them looked at you with a dumbfounded expression. “After leaving, you guys clearly forgot me” I said with tears in my eyes as i couldn't believe that they forgot me. “It’s me Y/n…. but I guess you guys didn’t care” I bitterly laugh as I see the visible expression changes on them except Branch. Guess John got what the fuck he wanted” I said getting ready to leave, but felt a hand gently catch mines, stopping me from leaving in the progress. Before I could turn around, I was pulled into a hug by a pink and white haired troll. “We could never forget you n/n” Floyd said genuinely. Slowly one by one the others hugged me except JD and branch.

Me and JD stared at each other as if we were to look away, we would die. Jd cleared his throat before saying “Umm are you good” while giving you that charming smirk. If looks could kill, JD would be dead right now. “That’s all? No sorry or are you ok sis.” I say starting to get angry. “Just be glad I'm happy to see you.” “Or what Jd” I said, letting a few tears fall. “You wanna know how tired I am from fighting with you. I bet Branch didn't even know he had a sister till now.” I advertise my hand to point at a shocked Branch. “But when I want my older brother to show me affection and let me be apart of the group it’s a fucking problem.” I say getting tired of his mess. “I don’t care no more JD. I will really walk out of this resort and leave again if that’s what you want.”I said, grabbing my helmet from the nicely made table. When Jd just stared at me I knew he meant it. So therefore without any words I got out of there and left. But before I did I said….

“So much for a Family Reunion….Hope we meet again, but on better conditions.”

IF YOU WANT A PT.2 WITH FLUFF LMKKKKKK!!!!!

#trolls #trolls band together #brozone x reader #brozone #trolls 3 #trolls branch #trolls viva #trolls x reader #angst

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dragonagitator · 6 months

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Timeline of major events during Gale Dekarios's lifetime

Here is my attempt to compile a timeline of major events that took place during Gale's lifetime, including his personal history, happenings in his hometown of Waterdeep, and major world events that would have affected him personally or affected everyone in Faerun. I hope this is useful in writing your Gale-centric fanfics!

The time period covered assumes that Gale is 40 years old during the events of BG3 and thus was born in the year 1452 DR. AFAIK there's no canon age given for Gale, but most fanons seem to peg him as being between 35 and 45, so I went with the middle of that range. Please feel free to adjust his estimated age for each event up or down depending on how old you think he is in BG3, e.g., if you think he's 38 then subtract 2 years, if you think he's 42 then add 2 years, etc.

Some of the more interesting implications of this timeline revolve around how much Mystra's powers and presence in the world significantly changed during Gale's lifetime. When Gale was a child or teen and first attracted the attention of Mystra, she was weak, not in contact with her Chosen, and assumed to be dead by most of the world. Gale was ~27 years old and already her lover by the time a "much diminished" Mystra called to Elminster for help, and Gale was ~35 years old when Mystra fully regained her powers as the Goddess of Magic. She seems to have dumped him shortly thereafter.

Detailed timeline and sources under the cut. It's long.

Most of the text that isn't specifically about Gale is copypasted from the Forgotten Realms wiki. See bottom for links. I haven't read all the novels and modules referenced by the wiki for these events yet and thus will likely need to revise this timeline as I work my way through those.

Birth to age ~27: until 1479 DR worldwide: Mystra was generally considered to be "dead"/missing during Gale's childhood and early adulthood because Mystra/Midnight was "murdered" by Cyric in 1385 DR (67 years before Gale was born).

However, Forgotten Realms canon of Mystra's timeline clashes with what Gale tells us about the timeline of his relationship with her:

Gale: "Once upon a time, not quite that long ago, there lived a wizard in a tower. The wizard was what one might call a prodigy, who from an early age could not only control the Weave, but compose it, much like a musician or a poet. Such was my skill that it earned me the attention of the mother of magic herself. The Lady of Mysteries. The goddess Mystra. She revealed herself to me and she became my teacher. In time, she became my muse, and later, even my lover." PC: "What did Mystra's attention feel like?" Gale: "Love. Perhaps it was not quite love, but you see, the wizard was but a very young man. It was most certainly love to him."

Speaking as a middle-aged person myself, while most 40-year-olds would consider 27 to be "young," the modifier of "very" suggests he that was much younger than 27 when he first became Mystra's lover. I'm older than the oldest estimates for Gale's age and I still wouldn't characterize myself at age 27 as being "but a very young woman." That description seems more fitting for someone in their late teens / early 20s.

Also, if he was "but a very young man" when they became lovers, then that means he was even younger (a child or teenager) when she first revealed herself to him and started teaching him magic.

So Gale's relationship with Mystra must have started during the period that the rest of the world believed she was dead or missing. Mystra did still have some sort of disembodied "presence" during this period, so maybe she was simply not able or interested in speaking to Elminster or her other previously established Chosen. Or perhaps she was fragmented, and Gale's relationship began with one of those fragments? Part of her "presence" ended up possessing a bear, but I'm assuming not the part that Gale was fucking.

Birth to age ~30: until 1482 DR worldwide: Gale was born and grew up during the "Era of Upheaval," which was known for widespread wild magic and dead magic zones, a lot of changes in the pantheon of deities, and a lot of wars and political conflicts amongst mortals.

Age ~16: c. 1468 DR in Waterdeep: "Dagult Neverember, the richest man in the city, became Open Lord."

Age ~27: 1479 DR in Waterdeep: "By this year, the Field Ward had been established, and Skullport was no longer inhabited."

Age ~27: 1479 DR in Waterdeep: "The 8th walking statue, the Griffon, appeared in Waterdeep and to defend Ahghairon's Tower. It eventually settled down near the Peaktop Aerie on Mount Waterdeep and eventually became a landmark of the city."

Age ~27: 1479 DR in western Cormyr [roughly 1050 miles / 1690 km southeast of Waterdeep]: "While recuperating in a cabin in the King's Forest, Elminster felt Mystra's presence calling to him. He found her much diminished, possessing the body of a bear that had guarded a cache of items Mystra's still-mortal form had collected. She asked her most trusted servant to find new candidates to become Chosen and to recruit Cormyr's War Wizards. Only a few weeks later, having been restored to his full powers as a Chosen by absorbing the silver fire of the dying Symrustar Auglamyr and then that of the Simbul and Manshoon, Elminster returned to Mystra (in agony from absorbing too much of it) and returned much of it to the Lady of Mysteries, restoring much of her power and divinity. This event became known as Mystra's Return."

I'm assuming that Elminster's acquaintance with Gale must have begun sometime after this because otherwise you'd think Gale would have mentioned "oh yeah she's not actually dead, we've been banging for a while now."

Mystra reestablishing contact Elminster, regaining some of her power, and the rest of the world learning that she was alive is pretty huge and therefore must have been a significant turning point in her relationship with Gale as well.

I'm also assuming that Gale did not become one of Mystra's official Chosen until after this, since it seems like Mystra's Chosen weren't active while she was laying low and letting the world think she was dead?

Ages ~30 to ~35: 1482 DR to 1487 DR worldwide: "The Second Sundering, also known as the Sundering of Toril and Abeir, was a great catastrophic event in the history of the worlds of Abeir and Toril."

Age ~32: 1484 DR worldwide: "Most of the gods created many Chosen among mortals, trying to gather as much power as possible to be as high in divine ranking as they could before Ao completed the new Tablets of Fate, sealing their status and portfolio. People started to claim they had been 'chosen' by the gods and granted special powers, some apparently for 'divine purposes' while others had no idea why."

It's possible that Gale was recruited to be a Chosen of Mystra by Elminster per Mystra's instructions to Elminster to find candidates, but given that the gods were also choosing people directly during this period and that Mystra had a preexisting relationship with Gale, she may have also Chosen him directly herself. Poor Elminster out there trying to find the best candidates and then Mystra surprises him by adding her boyfriend to the roster. Gale being a nepotism hire despite having otherwise been qualified would be pretty funny.

Age ~34: 1486 DR in Waterdeep: "Neverwinter and Waterdeep began to clear the rubble in their cities that had built up over a century of neglect."

Hey, remember when Gale said that he used to be able to levitate an entire tower back when he was an archmage? Maybe this is when he was doing stuff like that.

Age ~35: 1487 DR worldwide: "Stars reportedly fell from the sky, gods long thought dead walked the land and armies led by Chosen clashed everywhere. Major geological instability resulted in numerous earthquakes and volcanoes, as the worlds of Abeir and Toril were separated once again, and areas once consumed by large chasms were restored to their pre-Spellplague status. Ships arrived on the mainland continent from Evermeet, Halruaa, Lantan, and Nimbral—all realms previously thought lost to Toril."

Age ~35: 1487 DR in Candledeep [roughly 650 miles / 1050 km south of Waterdeep] : "In an attempt to fully restore the goddess Mystra and the Weave, Elminster Aumar began his search for Khelben Arunsun's writings on the Weave, heading towards Candlekeep. Laeral and Alustriel Silverhand had also been hiding within the library: the two sisters' duty was to prepare their own destruction, so that no one could use their power to gain control over the Weave." ... "The energies of the destroyed Wards were absorbed by the Shadow King, who then left for Myth Drannor, followed by the three Chosen of Mystra."

Although Gale was likely a Chosen of Mystra by this point, he wasn't one of the three mentioned here.

Age ~35: 1487 DR in Myth Drannor [roughly 1350 miles / 2170 km east of Waterdeep]: "Meanwhile in Myth Drannor, Larloch, the Netherese, and the Chosen of Mystra (allied with the elves) clashed in a catastrophic battle." ... "As Elminster defeated Tanthul in a mage duel, the Netherese enclave crashed atop Myth Drannor. Elminster himself was saved by Mystra, who gained full control over the Weave once more, stopping Shar from turning it into a new Shadow Weave."

Age ~35: 1487 DR worldwide: "As 1487 DR came to a close, the Second Sundering ended with the full return of Mystra and the Weave, the separation of the worlds Abeir and Toril."

Gale was not a character in the novel about these events so any personal involvement would have been minor, but I'm including them in his timeline because he would have been impacted by the "full return" of Mystra to the world. I imagine he would have experienced many of the same issues that spouses of someone just elected to a high-level office go through.

Gale's lack of personal involvement in Mystra's restoration despite being her Chosen AND her lover is kinda weird, which makes me wonder if things were already starting to sour between them? I really wish that I could lock Ed Greenwood and Jan Van Dosselaer in a room together until they came up with a coherent explanation for what the fuck Gale was up to while all this was going down.

Age ~35 to ~39: 1487 DR to 1491 DR: Sometime during this period must have been when Mystra dumped Gale and he went looking for a lost bit of Weave to win her back but got a Netherese orb lodged in his chest instead.

Mystra was newly back to her full power as the Goddess of Magic and laying down the law, and Gale didn't take that very well:

Gale: "We enjoyed each other's company - body, mind and soul. But even so, I desired more. You see, no matter how powerful a wizard we mortals can become, we never scratch more than the surface of the Weave. Mystra keeps us in check. There are boundaries she doesn't let us cross. Yet every time I was with her, I stood on the precipice, gazing into the wonders that lay beyond. I sought to cross her boundaries." PC: "How exactly did you try to cross those boundaries?" Gale: "I tried to convince her. I pouted, I pleaded, I swore my ambition was only to serve her better. But she only smiled and told me to be contented. As inconceivable as it seems to me now, I shared a bed with a goddess and yet I wasn't satisfied. So I sought to prove myself worthy to her instead."

Gale's description of what happened after she dumped him sounds like it took place over a multi-year period, since I'm assuming that he had to spend some time searching for the "tome of gateways":

Gale: "The goddess spurned the mortal. The veils were drawn once more, and the wizard was left behind heartbroken." ... "Poor wizard. Silly wizard too, for he wouldn't take no for an answer. Like so many of the heartbroken, he did something infinitely foolish. One has to think big if one seeks to win back a goddess. So the wizard thought big." PC: "Define big." Gale: "Here goes: Once upon a time, very long ago, a mighty lord lived in a tower. A flying tower to be precise. I'll save his story for another time, but the gist of it is that he sought to usurp the goddess of magic so that he could become a god himself. He almost managed, but not quite, and his entire empire - Netheril - came crashing down around him as he turned to stone. The magic unleashed that day was phenomenal, roiling like the prime chaos that outdates creation. A fragment of it was caught and sealed away in a book. No ordinary book, mind you: a tome of gateways that contained within it a bubble of Astral Plane. It was a fragment of primal Weave locked out of time - locked away from Mystra herself. 'What if', the silly wizard thought, 'What if after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the goddess?'" PC: "What was the answer to his question?" Gale: "The answer was to try, and the outcome was to fail."

Not sure how much Gale was around for the next few events, since he might have been gallivanting around the Astral Plane looking for the tome instead of spending time in Waterdeep. But one assumes he'd notice the physical changes to the city whenever he returned, and that he'd hear about local news from his mother and Tara, so he would certainly be aware that these things happened.

Age ~37: 1489 DR in Waterdeep: "In response to increasing dragon and cultist activity, the Council of Waterdeep was formed, bringing together representatives of realms from all across the Sword Coast. The threat of the Cult of the Dragon was driven home when Masked Lord Arthagast Ulbrinter was assassinated, though it inspired more resolve than fear. In the midst of these events, Open Lord Dagult Neverember was ousted by a vote of the Lords of Waterdeep, replaced by Laeral Silverhand. Although Waterdeep was largely spared due to the dragonward, the Field Ward was still burned to ashes by dragon attacks, displacing huge numbers of people."

Age ~38: 1490 DR in Waterdeep: "The cloud giant castle of Count Nimbolo and Countess Mulara appeared out of clouds and hovered over Waterdeep for a while, triggering mass panic. Heralds sent out by Lady Laeral Silverhand tried to calm citizens and promise that there was no danger. In fact, the giants wanted to research Waterdeep's history and meet its leaders, as they search for traces of the ancient giant realm of Ostoria."

Age ~39: 1491 DR in the Astral Plane (I think?): Gale finds the "tome of gateways" and becomes afflicted with the Netherese orb:

Narrator: "You see through Gale's eyes, staring down the corridors of a dread memory. A book, bound, then suddenly opened. Inside there are no pages, only a swirling mass of blackest Weave that pounces. It's teeth, it's claws, it's unstoppable as it digs through you and becomes part of you. And gods, is it ever-hungry…"

Age ~39: 1491 DR in Waterdeep: Gale begins a year-long isolation in his tower in Waterdeep and eventually stops communicating with anyone except Tara. Not sure exactly when his isolation began relative to the other events of this year, so he may or may not have been personally affected by or even aware of some of the Waterdeep events below.

Age ~39: 1491 DR in Waterdeep: "The returned Eilistraee appeared under the walls of Waterdeep causing an influx in the amount of her followers in the city. They eventually sought out Remallia Haventree and asked her for a holy forest-glade in the ruins of the Field Ward. By Mirtul, the housing crisis in Waterdeep had worsened as a mysterious sickness killed or drove out all of the inhabitants of Downshadow, the Field Ward remained desolated by dragonfire, and Mistshore was burned down by agents of Masked Lord Braethan Cazondur, rendering all three unofficial wards uninhabitable."

Age ~39: 1491 DR in Waterdeep: "Fear threatened to overtake Waterdeep once again as the cloud giant castle of Burruld hovered over the ocean near the city. After the Blackstaff Vajra Safahr panicked and threatened the giants, Open Lord Laeral Silverhand calmed the situation, negotiated with Burruld, and learned that their purpose was to search for the lost daughter of King Skyvald, Princess Irie."

Age ~39: 1491 DR in Waterdeep: "In mid-Mirtul, numerous Masked Lords and other people were gruesomely assassinated as part of Cazondur's conspiracy to seize control of the city. Open Lord Laeral Silverhand, assisted by Elminster and Mirt, worked to maintain order in the city while investigating the murders. While attempting to apprehend Cazondur, Laeral herself was killed and disintegrated by a surprisingly simple trap involving falling rocks, but recovered with Elminster's assistance. An exceedingly dramatic showdown at the Palace of Waterdeep between Laeral and Cazondur in front of assembled servants, nobles and guildmasters resulted in Cazondur's death at the hands of an unexpected third party, Xanathar agents Belvarra Bowmantle and Suthool. Including Cazondur, a total of thirteen Masked Lords and scores of others were slain, and several more Lords publicly unmasked."

Please note that our best guess for the location of Gale's tower puts it couple blocks away from Mirt's Mansion and Gale has mentioned being a patron of the Yawning Portal Tavern, so it seems likely that Gale and Mirt would have been acquainted. If Gale was already in isolation by the time all this went down, perhaps Elminster and Mirt tried dropping by Gale's tower at some point but were repelled by the wards that Gale had set up to keep everyone away? Gale seemed very certain that no one cared about him enough to check on him but I wonder how much of that was the depression talking.

Age ~39: 1491 DR in Waterdeep: "A delegation from the city of Mirabar disappeared while en route to the city, having been waylaid by cultists of the Elder Elemental Eye."

Age ~40: 1492 DR in Waterdeep: Gale abruptly departs his tower and doesn't tell anyone where he's going per Tara's line in his origin, "You left the tower in such a hurry, and you didn't leave an address."

Age ~40: 1492 DR in Yartar [roughly 310 miles / 500 km north of Waterdeep as the crow flies]: Gale is kidnapped by the nautiloid. As explained in a previous post, I believe that he was headed north to find an unpopulated area to die and explode in.

Sources:

FR wiki: Gale Dekarios

FR wiki: Era of Upheaval

FR wiki: Second Sundering

FR wiki: Mystra

FR wiki: Mystra (Midnight)

FR wiki: History of Waterdeep

FR wiki: Yartar

BG3 datamined dialogue transcripts

Map of Faerun

Sad headcanons posted to Tumblr by various people over the past few months that I unfortunately didn't save links to. If you saw something in here that you've posted about then I probably got the idea from you. Please feel free to drop links in the comments so people can read the original post(s) about it, thanks!

#BG3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #Forgotten Realms #Waterdeep #Gale #Gale of Waterdeep #Gale Dekarios #Gale BG3 #BG3 Gale #bg3 fanfic writing resources #Elminster #Mystra #the autism won today

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